


Sins of the Innocent

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angst, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Child Abuse, Discipline, Dubious Consent, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Punishment, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Underage Sex, Weechesters, Wordcount: Over 50.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-16
Updated: 2011-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 83,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has always known what he is and what it takes to control the demon inside of him. He and his brother were raised hunters, living isolated from the rest of society to protect both themselves and innocent civilians. When everything falls apart, they struggle to find their way in a world they don’t trust. They come to discover that they were never as alone as they thought and nothing is what it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Heavy themes of corporal punishment from extremely abusive to consensual domestic discipline, character deaths, child abuse, disturbing scenarios involving children, dub-con/non-con, incest (the not sexy kind), prostitution, references to past molestation, self-harm, themes of suicide, torture, underage sex (nothing under 15 shown, but younger implied)

_November 2, 1983 - Lawrence, Kansas_

John had always believed that nothing was perfect. Maybe it was cynicism he’d picked up during the war or a convenient out to shrug off his own failings. Regardless, he wasn’t too proud of a man to admit when he was wrong.

This moment was perfect.

Contentment warmed him, raising the corners of his lips into a smile that he doubted could ever fade. Mary’s features mirrored his own and brimmed so full of love that he couldn’t begin to comprehend what he had done to deserve even a glimpse of this kind of happiness.

He reached over their sleeping sons and slipped his arm around Mary’s shoulder. When she leaned towards him, the gentle waves of her hair cascaded from her shoulder to mingle with Dean’s blond locks. A few strands must have tickled Dean’s nose because it twitched, and a moment later, big, sleepy eyes blinked up at John.

Dean was nestled on the couch between him and Mary, bathed in the cool light of the television. He slouched with Sammy protectively held on his lap, wrapped in a blanket that made the six month old a nearly oversized bundle that Dean refused to relinquish.

As he stirred, Dean’s eyes moved from Mary to still-sleeping Sammy. By the time those bright eyes found John, a beaming smile had swept over Dean’s face.

“Sammy and me are the cheese,” Dean gleefully declared.

Mary laughed softly while John carded his hand through his son’s hair. “A Winchester sandwich, the best kind,” John agreed.

He leaned in to place a kiss on Dean’s head. With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, John moved on to capture Mary’s lips. She attempted a look of admonishment, but couldn’t keep a straight face and instead opted to return the kiss before they both straightened on the couch. There was an intoxicating softness to her gaze.

The last thing he wanted was for this moment to end.

Remaining on the couch and saying to hell with the rest of the world did cross his mind, but someone needed to go to work in the morning and someone else had an even bigger job of keeping the two deceptively innocent rascals beside him out of trouble tomorrow.

If they didn’t all get to bed, Sammy, who still dozed in his brother’s arms, would be the only one rested come morning. Even Dean had already lost his burst of energy. He fought back a yawn and his eyelids again looked heavy. Tipping over, Dean nuzzled his cheek back into John’s side.

“I know two slices of cheese that are up way past their bedtime,” Mary said.

“Can’t go to bed,” Dean said, jolting upright. “Watching a movie.”

John chuckled and patted Dean’s shoulder before standing. “The movie ended fifteen minutes ago, kiddo.”

Dean’s face scrunched. His disbelieving eyes darted to the television that was silently airing _The Tonight Show_ with Johnny Carson.

Mary reached up to flick on the lamp as John clicked off the television and shut down the VCR. When John turned back to his family, Dean still looked doubtful, but slowly the tension eased from his face as the boy accepted the inevitable fate of bedtime.

“Happily ever after?” Dean asked.

“Always,” Mary said as she scooped Sammy from Dean’s hold. “Now it’s time for my little princes to get to bed.”

Before Mary could stand, Dean kissed the soft wisps at the top of his little brother’s head. “Night, Sammy.”

“You got that one?” Mary asked.

John moved in on Dean. “Oh, I got him all right.”

“Daddy!” Dean giggled, curling into a ball as John mercilessly tickled his tummy.

When his boy finally surrendered, John hefted him up. Dean wrapped his arms around John’s neck and rested his head against John’s shoulder.

Somehow, Mary’s smile warmed further as she brushed Dean’s bangs aside and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Sleep good, sweetie.”

“’Night, Mommy. Take care of Sammy.”

It seemed ridiculous now that they had ever worried about how Dean would adjust to having a little brother. They’d read all the books and had expected tantrums, fear of abandonment, and a pile of other Freudian mumbo jumbo. What they had gotten was further proof that the world had blessed them with the perfect son.

Dean shifted in his arms as John carried him up the stairs, leaning back far enough to meet his eyes. “I’d save Sammy from the dragons.”

Apparently his son hadn’t missed as much of the movie as John had thought. “I know you would.” John’s arms wrapped more snuggly around his son. “That’s what big brothers are for.”

After a layover in the bathroom, John delivered Dean to bed. With one hand, he folded back the blankets and laid him over the fire truck clad sheets. He straightened out the flannel of Dean’s blue plaid pajamas before pulling up the covers to tuck around him.

Usually Dean would have been eagerly anticipating a story from John or a song from Mary, but tonight he was out the moment he touched down on the mattress. John patted his hand softly over the blankets at Dean’s chest then switched off the lamp.

At the door, he stopped and looked back over the peaceful form of his sleeping son, gently illuminated by the glow from the room’s nightlight. It was the last time he would ever smile at his son.

Later that night, John would see the demon for the first time.

~~~

 _May 20, 2001 - Seattle, Washington_

With a flip of wavy blond hair, the young woman leaned in towards Dean. Her movements were practiced, knowing exactly the angle needed to display an ample view of the cleavage that nearly burst from the confines of her obscenely low-cut tube top.

A sputtered laugh almost escaped Sam’s lips at the indignant look that crossed her face when Dean’s eyes only darted down to fix on the sticky surface of the bar. He would laugh if it didn’t hurt so much to see how uneasy her attention made his brother.

Unlike the last two girls who had tried to pick up Dean, this one was pushing way too hard and fast not to be charging. He wondered if she’d appreciate the irony in the fact that she was propositioning a prostitute to pay her for sex.

Prostitute.

The word slid so easily to his mind, but rang cold and bitter even as only a random thought in Sam’s head. It was what Dad called Dean, but it made his brother sound like just a cheap trick when Dean was so much more than that.

Sam knew that his big brother gave everything just so they had food to eat and gas for the road. Some nights, it was even enough for a half-clean, warm bed. It didn’t make him hate it any less and maybe just made Sam hate Dad more for rubbing it in Dean’s face.

Knowing first-hand just how much that money could mean, Sam wasn’t surprised when the woman didn’t surrender. She leaned in further, resting an elbow on the bar and moving like she planned to climb into Dean’s lap.

Dean jerked as if she’d bitten him. He shot a nervous glance over his shoulder towards the pool tables at the far side of the bar before he scooted away.

He was so close to falling off the edge of his barstool that he had to steady himself with a hand on Sam’s thigh. Dean’s other hand reached around his back and slipped beneath his shirt. Sam didn’t need to see what Dean was doing to know that his hand rested on the Colt.

Sam bristled as he took the cue from his brother. He also began to wonder if the persistent woman was even human or if her fascination with Dean might be about more than just money. He let himself breathe a little when her eyes moved from Dean, just as happy to settle on Sam.

A coy smile played over her scarlet lips. “We could work out a two-for-one rate.”

With a snort, Sam rolled his eyes. He spun on his barstool to face her. It wasn’t until his eyes moved past Dean and he really looked at her that he saw the subtle etching of poorly masked wrinkles beneath the too-heavy application of makeup. He distantly thought it made her look like a clown and shivered. Briefly, he reconsidered the possibility of her being a demon after all.

Right now, he didn’t care what she was. He just wanted her to leave his brother alone.

“He doesn’t talk and we’re not interested.”

Sam’s tone wasn’t rude, but it left no room for discussion. The woman, who was probably old enough to be his mother, pushed off the bar and wordlessly sauntered off. She didn’t leave without sending a wanting look back at Dean before disappearing into the crowd.

Dean was his brother, and Sam wasn’t attracted to guys to begin with, but he wasn’t blind. He knew that despite the self-conscious way Dean held his body, that his brother was ridiculously attractive and Dean’s mysterious silence somehow pulled more attention to him than if he were screaming at the top of his lungs.

A tide of anger rose in Sam at the fact that strangers got off on knowing that Dean didn’t want it, like they thought he was playing hard-to-get for their personal amusement.

He saw it in the eyes of every girl that caught sight of Dean. Growing up, he’d heard it spoken in crude words by more men and demons than he could count. Time and again he’d seen the lust masking their features as they had fumbled into his brother’s pants.

Sam’s grip on his beer tightened hard enough that his fingers numbed. He was afraid that he was near to crushing the glass in his hold and forced his hand to loosen. His nerves were ragged enough without having to sit still while Dean picked chunks of glass from his palm.

This bar was worse than most. It was shoulder-brushing crowded and dark as a theater. Every shadow crawled with could-be demons. Some patrons were far beyond wasted, raucous and unpredictable. Others hunched over secluded booths exchanging hushed conversation over drinks they had barely sipped.

A hearty laugh, deep and unmistakable, rumbled from the pool tables. Dad wasn’t as drunk as he pretended to be, but anyone watching would think he was and he wasn’t exactly sober either. Sam wasn’t sure if their father ever actually was.

Sam’s own beer bottle was only two gulps down and both had only been for show. Most eighteen year olds would be in heaven here, but he wasn’t most teens. There was nothing normal about him or his brother, who sat silently, shifting uncomfortably on the barstool beside him.

The restless movements were the norm for Dean, though he apparently didn’t realize that he never sat still. Anytime Dad bitched about Dean’s squirming, Dean just said “sorry, sir”, and always looked confused, like he didn’t actually know what he’d done.

Sam couldn’t blame Dean for not bothering to figure it out. As far as he could tell, just Dean’s breathing pissed Dad off.

The constant movement out of the corner of his eye was comfortingly familiar and assured him his brother was close, but he knew the ceaseless shifting was a combination of Dean being sore and antsy for a fight that he might not walk away from.

It wasn’t fair that Dean always had to be in pain. Sam wanted to hear his brother laugh, free and proud, like Dad. He would kill for a chuckle or a flash of a smile, even though he was sure he wouldn’t recognize Dean with a grin anymore than he would recognize the sound of his brother’s laughter.

Dean’s ample lips were pressed in a grim line, his dull eyes seemingly calm while darting over the crowd. Sam kept his own eyes fixed straight towards the bar, watching the scene behind them in the mirror. He should be scouting for demons, but his gaze kept drifting to Dean.

For a moment their eyes caught in the reflection. Dean cleared his throat before again fixing his eyes down on the counter. He wordlessly knocked back another shot. Unlike Sam, Dean really was drinking, but Dean held his liquor even better than Dad and if Sam were Dean, he’d want to be drunk too.

Sam took another gulp from his own beer. When he looked up again, Dad was waving towards Dean.

“Strut that pretty ass over here, boy!”

Dean gulped for air as if he was preparing for a deep-sea dive without an air tank. He fumbled with his shot glass, sending it clanking down to the counter before sliding off the barstool. His eyes deadened as he shrugged off his jacket.

Sam didn’t care that it was an act for the con. He hated when Dad talked to Dean like he was a whore instead of his own son. The masked hurt in Dean’s eyes screamed the truth. Despite Dean’s claims of not caring, each lewd comment out of Dad’s mouth tore into him like razor wire.

With a firm grip, Sam grasped Dean’s arm, clutching it until he drew up his brother’s eyes. “You really ready for this?”

“All part of the job.”

It was all Dean ever said. If something was for the hunt, or if it was what Dad wanted, then Dean gave it a free pass. It didn’t matter how wrong it was or how much it hurt, not as long as Dean was the only one getting hurt.

Sam shook his head as he took Dean’s jacket for him. “I hate the fucking job.”

“What we do is important.” Dean stifled a sigh and slipped out of his overshirt. “We’re saving lives, Sammy.”

“So I’ve heard,” Sam snapped.

None of this was Dean’s fault, but he was sick and tired of hearing the old Winchester company line, especially when there were more important things at stake than random strangers they would never meet.

“What about your life? Why’s it gotta be you, Dean?”

“You know why. Can we not do this now?” Dean’s question was weary, sounded wearier every time he asked it.

Sam bit his tongue and squeezed his brother’s arm once more before taking the shirt Dean fumbled with in his hands. He carefully concealed the Colt that Dean had smuggled him inside the fabric.

“Sorry, man.”

He wasn’t sorry for brining it up and he’d damn well keep bringing it up until Dean listened. But it wouldn’t change what was going to happen tonight and Dean already had enough weighing on his shoulders.

Sam reluctantly released his brother and let Dean weave them through the crowd to the pool table Dad had commandeered. Dad already had plenty of company. A group of ravenous-looking men, demons no doubt, circled the table and all had their eyes locked on Dean as he approached.

Dean kept his eyes averted, but his head up and on display as the demons visually undressed him. A wave of jealousy bubbled up to combat Sam’s concern for his brother’s safety. This was the first time he’d come on this particular style of hunt, but from the briefing Dad had given, he knew there was a good chance that these demons would soon have their hands all over Dean.

“Stop dragging your feet,” Dad snapped.

Grabbing Dean’s arm, Dad roughly jerked Dean forward hard enough that he stumbled over his own boots. Sam’s body hurt from the strain of forcing himself to stay back and not rush in to catch his brother.

It was only the leg that Dad threw out against the pool table that caught Dean. With his knee braced against the table, Dad bent Dean forward over his thigh and landed two harsh swats to the seat of his jeans.

The action brought snickers of approval from the audience and a cringe of pain to Dean’s face. Dad kept Dean tender enough that even a light smack would have to hurt and Sam was pretty sure that with as hard as Dad hit, it would hurt plenty even if Dean weren’t already bruised.

Still, it was the shamed flush that colored Dean’s cheeks that had Sam’s blood boiling over. It was hard to see in the low light of the bar, but Sam could read it just as easily in Dean’s eyes.

“This one,” Dad said.

With a quick jerk, Dad had Dean upright and pushed him towards the demons. The largest one didn’t hesitate to latch on and reel Dean in. Dean stood still as the thing inspected him like he was a car the demon was considering taking for a test drive. It took everything Sam had to stay back as its oversized hand inspected the curves beneath Dean’s jeans.

He kept his hand resting on the gun in case one of the demons made a move sooner than expected. Dad wouldn’t approve of giving themselves away as hunters, but with Dean’s life on the line, Sam didn’t give a flying crap.

The demon whispered something against Dean’s ear that made the corner of Dean’s lips curl up into an almost imperceptible snarl before the demon’s eyes shifted to Sam.

“They make a cute pair. If Shaggy is on the table too, maybe we talk.”

Panic flashed over Dean’s face before his pleading eyes fixed on Dad. There was something else being silently conveyed, something that rang of a warning.

Despite what it looked like, Sam knew better than to think that Dean would make any kind of demand of Dad. He could have used Dad’s reaction to translate Dean’s expression if Dad had so much as bothered to meet Dean’s eyes.

“Just that one.” Dad’s tone was unwavering as he finally sent a detached look to Dean. “Trust me, he’s worth it.”

Dean relaxed at the words even as the demon’s thumb roughly played over his lower lip. “Not sure he’s worth as much as we’re wagering.”

There was no hesitation before Dean sunk to his knees.

With a practiced ease, he tucked himself out of sight, partially hidden beneath the pool table and blocked on the other side by the group of demons. Sam couldn’t see what Dean was doing under there, but he didn’t have to. He could see it on the demon’s face when its eyes all but rolled back up into its head.

Sam knew the feeling. That warmth the thought kindled in his gut was quickly extinguished by the fact that it wasn’t him Dean was doting over. Instead his brother was lavishing those same careful strokes of his tongue, which Sam liked to pretend were reserved of him, onto some random demon’s dick.

The thing was panting hard by the time Dad dragged Dean up by the scruff of his t-shirt. The sharp movement tore Dean’s hair free from the grip of the demon’s hands. It gave a dissatisfied grunt, finding its hips jerking hungrily into thin air.

“The starting offer is one hour for him to finish you off and for you to do whatever the hell else you want to him so long as me and my boy get to watch,” John said with a nod towards Sam.

“Fuck this one blind while Shaggy jerks off?”

The demon gave an approving nod, but still pretended to be on the fence as it tucked itself in and pulled Dean back to its side. Dismissive of the crowd, the demon slid Dean’s belt free from the buckle. Sam clenched his jaw as Dean tensed in the demon’s arms.

If Dad planned on letting this thing whip Dean here in front of all these people, Sam was going to blow their cover before it happened. It would only get Dean a worse beating back at their room, but at least it wouldn’t be while he was on display. Dean hated that.

The demon didn’t strip the belt from its loops, only unfastened it from the buckle before unzipping Dean’s fly. Sam caught the flash of dark curls before Dean’s slightly oversized t-shirt flopped down to partially cover him. Dean didn’t even own a pair of underwear, never had as far as Sam knew.

The demon took full advantage of that, shoving into the back of Dean’s low slung jeans. Dean bit his lower lip as the thing’s hand disappeared beneath the denim and he parted his thighs to ease its access.

“Oh yeah...” the demon purred. “That’s one damn tight hole for such a little whore, and already slicked up. Me and my boys, we’re gonna have a good time slopping up your pussy.”

Sam’s grip on the concealed gun tightened dangerously when Dad shared in the laugh. “You just keep telling yourself that. I know whose bed he’s gonna be in tonight.”

Nausea crept up in Sam’s throat at the easy way the words rolled off Dad’s tongue. Then Dad leaned in, dug his fingers into Dean’s hair and jerked his head forward to claim Dean’s lips with his own.

Sam gagged, feeling cold and numb at the lost look in Dean’s eyes before they fell closed with a flutter of lashes. He couldn’t process what he was seeing, but Sam almost thought he saw Dean entwining his tongue with Dad’s.

While he wanted to scratch his eyes out, he settled for squeezing them shut in a futile effort to wipe the visual from his mind, praying like hell that it had only been a trick of the shadows.

By the time he risked opening his eyes again, Dad was laying another hard swat to Dean’s ass. The motion drove Dean forward into the hand of the demon that was now exploring inside the front of Dean’s jeans.

When Dad stepped away to grab a pool cue, the demon pulled out, but didn’t fasten Dean’s pants back up. Instead it shoved Dean towards the others.

“Get him ready for me,” the demon told them as he took his position at the table. “They play while we play.”

There was a challenge in the demon’s eyes as it looked to Dad, but Dad just shrugged easily in reply. “Fair enough. It’s not like this is gonna take long.”

Sam’s eyes darted away from Dad when the group ushered Dean out from beneath the pool table’s light to hide him in the shadows. They stood around him, blocking the view of his lower torso from the other patrons in the bar.

All even Sam could see was Dean’s face, eyes hooded and head lowered as if that could hide him. Despite trying to stand still, Dean twitched and jerked when the hands inside his pants twisted the wrong...or the right way.

“Gonna come all over yourself for me, bitch?”

Sam tried not to hear the words or see the blankness in his brother’s eyes. He tried to stay focused and not think about the fact that no one here would even care if they knew his brother was being molested by a pack of demons. Even Dad didn’t care.

He didn’t get who exactly they were saving. As far as he was concerned, the demons could have every last person here.

His eyes returned to the table as Dad lined up what looked hard, but was an easy shot for him. Sam watched him purposefully throw the shot, and the next three after that.

“Son of a bitch!” Dad threw his pool stick noisily onto the table. The lead demon laughed at Dad’s apparent defeat, grinning like a fool when Dad gave a reluctant nod. “I guess he’s all yours. Take him out the back.”

Dean already looked hazed. The exposed flat of his stomach shined slick where it caught the light and his eyes glistened more than normal. The demon that had been fondling him withdrew its hands while another jerked Dean’s jeans up hard enough that his boots nearly left the floor.

They barely had him zipped up before the large demon came over to close its hand over the nape of Dean’s neck. The action drew a quiet growl from Sam. That was his part of Dean. It was where he comforted him and the demon’s grip there now was being used to cause pain, to claim his brother.

Sam could barely draw in breath as he watched the demon use its hold on Dean’s neck to steer him towards the exit.

“Your head in the game?”

The gruffly spoken question in Sam’s ear made him jump. He had been half way to pulling the Colt from where it was hidden beneath his jacket before he realized it was Dad. Knowing that didn’t actually make him want to pull out the weapon any less.

Sam couldn’t even look at his father as he swallowed down his rage and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

There was no question that Sam would be fully focused on this fight. He had to be. There were five demons and only three of them. With all of the demons focusing on his brother, if something went wrong, Dean would take the first blows of retaliation. Even if they survived, Dad would whip the weight of the defeat into Dean.

The only option was to win.

While this was his first time participating, this kind of hunt wasn’t anything new. Sam didn’t remember a time when Dean hadn’t been bait.

Sam had been nine years old when Dad had carried Dean into their motel room. Dean had been draped pale and motionless in Dad’s arms, loosely wrapped in a blanket and bleeding from places Sam didn’t know people could bleed from. Sam had been sure his brother was dead.

Dad had cooed to Dean that he’d done a good job, that he was proud of him. Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Dean look so content as he had that night that he lay bleeding out in the bathtub.

It might be business as usual, but it still riled Sam up all the more every time it happened. Every time Dean claimed it was necessary. Every time Dad said he was sorry.

~~~

John glowered at his youngest before giving him a nod to take up the rear. Some nights John wondered about Sam. His son claimed to be focused while he was clearly too busy with his head in the clouds to see what was happening right in front of his face.

It was a damn good way to get them all killed.

Even so, there was no time to deal with Sam’s attitude, not on the hunt, not while Dean’s life was on the line. It was bad enough that John had to watch out for Dean while keeping an eye on the demons. He couldn’t hold Sam’s hand too.

Dean had good reasons to be incapable. Too much of his focus had to be devoted to holding back the demon inside of him. Sam didn’t have an excuse outside of stubborn laziness.

It was late spring and the night was cool. A heavy mist fell down around them. It was just enough to be distracting.

John had hoped that things would have dried out from the morning’s rain, but the constant light precipitation kept the streets slick. The standing water was just enough to make John second-guess whether or not he’d brought enough accelerant.

They walked a couple of blocks down the avenue before slipping inside the cover of a poorly boarded-up building. John gave a slight nod of approval at the fact that Dean had managed to lure all five demons into the structure.

The windows had long ago been shattered out and graffiti covered the battered walls. John had scouted the location earlier in the afternoon. He had found and blocked all the exits aside from the one they were walking in, which he’d pried open a couple of hours earlier.

John’s boots crunched over broken glass as he stepped around debris and followed the demons in. He couldn’t risk a glance back to Sam but listened and heard his son’s footfalls closing in behind him.

Holding back, John let Sam step in past him, not trusting that his youngest was on top of his game enough to guard the exit. They couldn’t afford to let even one of the demons escape.

Inside, the shadows were irregular. The only illumination came from the streetlight outside and it had to work its way through the spaces in the boards that were nailed over the empty window panes. Dean continued to move further into the skeletal remains of the building, just far enough to be out of view of the street but still within reach of the light.

John pursed his lips at the defeated bow of Dean’s head. Sometimes his eldest was so convincing with his act that even John was left believing that Dean didn’t want this. Even though he knew better, even though this was necessary regardless of what any of them wanted, the defeated posture nonetheless pulled at John’s heart.

It was only made bearable by the fact that it was impossible to forget what Dean was. Demons were attracted to two things - the innocent and their own kind. With a cover of innocence over the darkness within him, Dean drew them in like moths to a flame.

Aside from benefiting the hunt, this was also the only safe outlet John could provide Dean. There was no other way to let his son get his release without risking the lives of others. Dean’s sexual preferences were disturbingly ugly at best.

“You strip that ass naked.”

At the demon’s order, Dean shot John a glance so quick and subtle that even someone watching Dean closely wouldn’t have seen it unless they knew him.

John nodded an affirmative to his son, silently conveying that they were ready and that Dean should take it as far as the demons would go. The more distracted they were, the better the chance of getting them all.

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw the lines of Sam’s body stiffen. He sent another warning glare towards him. John had already made it clear to his youngest that he couldn’t give the appearance that he was doing anything but enjoying this.

Shifty looks and twitching muscles would alert the demons to a possible attack. One false move and the demons would know they were hunters. Thankfully, Dean’s stripping held the demons transfixed. It always did.

It wasn’t only the body revealed beneath the fabric but the way Dean dismissed his clothing. There was no strip tease. It was just a simple, thoughtless unveiling like someone might do in the privacy of a locked bathroom before stepping into the shower. It was personal and rang of voyeurism to watch it even with a group.

Once fully exposed, Dean’s body read of complete submission. His son barely flinched when the first demon grabbed him and forced him forward against the wall. It was Sam who jerked instead, Sam who still failed to understand his brother at all.

It wasn’t as if John was any less disgusted by this. Nausea stung his throat as he watched Dean grind back into the demon, begging to be fucked raw. It was sick what that thing had turned his son into. The aborted, pained cries that slipped over Dean’s lips were all for show.

There’d been a time when each whimper had gouged John, but there was no longer anything left to hollow out. There was barely anything left of Dean to mourn. No matter how little that thing pinned beneath the demon resembled his son, John still couldn’t let Dean go for reasons of practicality, if not sentimentality.

Dean was the best weapon he had.

~~~

Sam had the Colt all but drawn as he awaited the signal to move in. It didn’t come. His eyes shifted to Dad, expecting to see urgency, but Dad’s hand was nowhere near his weapon. If anything, his stance was more consistent with a stakeout, like he was settling in to wait.

With a quick survey of the area, Sam tried to figure out what he was missing. The exits were blocked and they had all the demons in place. Making Dean strip down now was pointless. It was like Dad wanted to humiliate him.

Sam was left staring in disbelief when he realized that Dad’s gaze was with the demons’, wandering over Dean’s exposed body. He was shaken from his stupor when the largest demon knocked Dean forward against the crumbling sheetrock.

To hell with Dad’s orders. Sam started for his brother. It was only Dad’s hand digging hard into his bicep that held him back.

“Little boy getting jealous?” The demon sent him an ugly smirk and rutted its body up against Dean, pinning him harder against the wall. “Don’t you worry, Shaggy. I’ll do him real good for you.”

Dean was small, blanketed beneath the larger mass that looked like it could crush him. The demon didn’t so much as work a finger in before kicking Dean’s bare feet apart, lining up and savagely thrusting in. Dean’s face twisted, eyes clenching closed and body shuddering against the intrusion.

Sam twisted hard in the grip that held him, fist clenching as he turned on Dad. “Stop this.” The quiet words came out half as a demand and half as a desperate plea.

“Damn it, Sam.” Dad’s eyes were threatening and his whisper harsh as he pulled Sam aside. “You told me you could handle this.”

Sam matched his father glare for glare. “I didn’t know what this was,” he whispered back.

His body shook with rage as he looked past Dad to see Dean’s hands clutching at the wall while the demon’s fingers dug what would become dark bruises into Dean’s hips.

“That thing is....”

Sam couldn’t force the word from his lips, not while he was watching it happen.

Dad gave a solemn nod. “I know.”

He almost sounded sympathetic, but it wasn’t enough and Dad must have known it because he didn’t release Sam’s arm.

“Just settle down and give your brother a chance to enjoy himself.”

Sam abruptly stilled in Dad’s hold. Even his lungs seized at the words, unable to draw in air. He stared into Dad’s eyes and saw only sincerity, heard only honest insistence in Dad’s voice.

Dad actually believed he was doing Dean a favor.

His brother’s breaths were already ragged before the rest of the demons had unzipped their pants. When the largest one finished with him, it stepped back.

Dean stumbled without the demon’s support. Before he could reach for the wall, the thing kicked Dean’s feet out from beneath him. Sick laughter filled the space as Dean hit the floor hard and Sam bucked in Dad’s arms.

“Uppity little prick you got there.”

The demon’s comment made Dean’s unfocused eyes go wide as he followed the demon’s look to Sam. Without waiting to catch his breath, Dean pushed to his knees.

He knelt in a puddle of water amidst the debris, looking between the demons jerking themselves hard like he was silently asking which one was next in line. Sam knew his brother was just trying to draw the focus back to him and it only made Sam angrier.

A demon bent over Dean, hands groping and pinching tender flesh while another pushed Dean forward onto his hands and knees before getting behind him. Dean’s body rocked with the forced rhythm that left him gasping. One of the others took his open mouth as an invitation.

Sam beat futilely against Dad’s chest. He knew first-hand how unbelievably little air Dean needed when he was giving head. He knew Dean wasn’t getting enough now.

His green eyes blinked hazily, face more than just flushed, as the demon clutched him so close Dean’s nose was crushed tight against its hammering pelvis.

Dean still didn’t fight. He didn’t so much as struggle as he choked on the demon’s full length, like he didn’t even care.

The demon’s groans were animalistic right before it left Dean fighting a gag as he tried to both swallow and pull in enough air so that he wouldn’t pass out.

In the middle of everything, Dean froze and met Sam’s eyes.

Dean was still struggling to recover air. His body was moist and shivering from the rain that dripped in through the half-collapsed roof but the cold drips of water weren’t enough to begin to wash away the thick, sticky fluids that the demons shot over his skin.

Through it all, there was a silent request in Dean’s eyes and Sam slowly realized that his fighting with Dad was upsetting Dean as much, if not more than the demons who were ripping into him.

Dean was physically strong enough to stop this at any time and Sam wouldn’t feel the need to fight for him if he believed that Dean would stop it on his own before it killed him, but he wouldn’t. Not unless Dad told him to.

But the only thing in the world Sam trusted was his brother. He gave a reluctant nod before clenching his jaw and shoving away from Dad, whose eyes promised instant death. Sam didn’t care. He just kept several feet between him and Dad and made a show of being the professional voyeur that Dad apparently wanted.

When the demons started taking Dean three at a time, Sam had to look away and wished he could cover his ears to block out the tangled sounds of pleasure and pain.

He didn’t look up again until he heard the door slam closed. Dad’s shout rang loud, echoing through the building’s remains.

“Now, Dean!”

At Dad’s kill order, the five demons surrounding Dean froze in a sickening tableau, all literally caught with their pants down and exchanging confused glances. They had made the mistake of thinking that they had the upper hand just because Dean was the one on his knees.

When the largest demon turned to look at Dad, it parted the way for Sam to see his brother’s face. A joyless smirk cracked over Dean’s swollen lips. His eyes flashed cold, nearly black, as all the softness and hurt bled from him. Staged submission surrendered to raw power.

While Sam cursed Dad’s lack of warning, Dean didn’t need any.

Dean scrambled on all fours for a machete tucked beneath the rubble and then he was on his feet. The blood sprayed over his bare skin as he took down a second demon before Sam and Dad could even surge from the shadows. The head of the first demon hadn’t even yet rolled to a stop.

Dad wouldn’t let them use guns here, he never did when they were in a city and a civilian might respond to the gunshots before they had a chance to clean up the bodies. Instead, the sounds that echoed around them were of cracking bones and the pounding of flesh.

The remaining demons just looked terrified. They screamed that Dean, not them, was the sick monster as they ran for exits that had already been blocked. Dean sprinted for them with movements that were nearly too quick to follow and were too perfectly synchronized to disguise that he wasn’t entirely human.

Every strong line of Dean’s body was on display as he snatched his third demon near one of the broken-out windows. The extenuated lines of his muscles flexed before the sickening twist that left the demon falling heavily to the ground, its head limply angled the wrong way.

Usually Sam didn’t do much aside from keep an eye on the demons, but they didn’t usually go after so many at once. What the demons had done also tended to be ambiguous, just stories that Dad told them. This wasn’t. Sam had seen the thing in front of him forcing into his brother.

Sam knocked the stunned demon back into the wall that his brother had been fucked against. His punches flew viciously into the thing’s face as part of him imagined that it was Dad on the other side of his bloodied fists.

His hits were almost blindly thrown with none of the careful defensive measures Dad had beaten into Dean. He didn’t even see the demon’s fist coming at his face until Dean shoved in to block it. Three strikes from Dean, and the demon’s body lay broken, chest still.

Sam kicked it in the side before Dean steered him away, lying and telling him that it was okay. He wished Dean hadn’t been so quick to end it. It wasn’t enough.

Dean had always finished off Sam’s kills. Sam had the anger, he was mad as hell most of the time, but he lacked Dean’s ability to lay down the savage force needed when weapons weren’t used.

Mostly, he just lacked the stomach.

He knew what these things were, but something about ending them with his own hands still made Sam queasy. Dean always managed to deal the death blows for him in a way that Dad didn’t notice or maybe he just didn’t care.

It was over too fast and not fast enough. They stood still with the sound of the rain splattering and their own heavy breaths. Cars continued to drive by obliviously.

From all the exertion he put out, Dean’s breath should have been the loudest. His chest was heaving, but he tried to hide it, tried to pretend he wasn’t tired and hurting. If he didn’t, it would mean revealing a weakness in front of Dad.

Instead of giving himself a minute, Dean silently helped Dad pile the bodies. Dean strode to retrieve the largest demon’s corpse and as he walked, Sam saw how much his brother was limping. Dean’s face was tight with pain, breath hitching with each step.

Sam hustled to get to the body before Dean. He wouldn’t be able to convince Dean to let him move it alone, the thing was huge, but he could tell that Dean didn’t have enough energy to stop him from helping. His brother didn’t look up from their work, but their movements were synchronized as they both grabbed an arm.

“You okay, Dean?”

“Fine.”

He knew it was a stupid question and the answer came through loud and clear in that simple, pain-filled word. Sam bit his lip. It wasn’t like he could blame Dean for being mad.

Like he always did, Dean picked up on Sam’s tension. Dean took in a deep breath after they heaved the body on the pile with the rest. It wasn’t enough to be convincing, but he tried to put on a strong face before finally meeting Sam’s eyes.

“I’m okay, Sammy. I just-”

“You missed a head,” Dad interrupted.

Dad glared at Dean and sent a curt nod towards the far wall before returning to pouring the fuel from a gas can he must have hidden in the building earlier in the day. Dean’s shoulders slumped again, the tenuous mask falling from his face.

At least Dad didn’t ask for Dean’s belt. Usually all it took was one carpet fiber out of place, sometimes it didn’t even take that. He’d grown up with Dean being routinely punished for nothing at all, but somehow tonight was different.

Sam was pretty sure that he would have pulled a gun on his father if Dad had tried to so much as swat at his brother for slipping up after what had just happened. His stomach was already knotted as he braced for returning to their room where he wouldn’t be able to spare Dean the pain.

“And, Dean,” Dad added, “next time you need to move it along.”

His brother had already turned away so Sam couldn’t see his face, but he heard more than he needed to in the dead tone of Dean’s “yes, sir.”

Every angry word Sam had been about to launch at Dad caught in his throat when he saw Dean bend forward to retrieve the demon’s head. The thick shine of fluids smeared messy between Dean’s thighs was stained red.

When he turned around, Dean’s shoulders tightened under Sam’s gaze. He must have followed Sam’s eyes because he shook his head.

“It’s not mine.”

Sam wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or nauseated.

He settled on staring, detached as his brother heaved the slack-jawed head into the stack of corpses and stepped away to grab his pants. Dean didn’t bother to wipe away any of the fluids, just threw on his clothes over bloody skin faster than seemed humanly possible.

He wondered if Dean thought Dad would ignite the gasoline whether or not Dean was out in time. Then he wondered if maybe Dad really would.

The moment they were out the door, Dean checked to make sure the alley was clear before Dad set his Zippo to the floor. The flame raced down the trail of accelerant and ignited the mounded flesh.

Their long, hurried strides carried them several blocks down the avenue by the time the second explosion came, shooting up a billowing tower of flames.

Whatever Dad used called a hell of a lot more attention than a standard fire would have, but Sam knew it was intended to burn fast and hot. Hot enough to incinerate human flesh before the fire department could arrive.

They couldn’t leave any traces before moving on to the next town.


	2. Chapter 2

_May 2, 1994 – Boulder, Colorado_

Studying was usually easy for Sam. Normally, he was fully focused, even enjoying it, for which his big brother informed him he was a total freak. As much as Dean teased him, it was Dean who always helped him with his homework.

His brother had dropped out of school years ago and had never heard of the stuff Sam was studying now. It didn’t stop him from sitting down and trying to talk Sam through it even though it just made Dean mad at himself for not getting it. Whenever Sam tried to explain the things he did know, Dean told him not to bother.

It wasn’t like Dean was stupid or didn’t like school. All of a sudden, Dad had just pulled Dean out claiming that it was a waste of time to educate someone like Dean. Sam had actually heard his dad say "something like Dean", but he knew he must have heard him wrong.

Dean was the one who came to his science fairs and made him bag lunches since Dad wouldn’t give him money to buy food at the cafeteria. It was Dean who rushed in, sweaty and exhausted from morning training sessions, to make sure Sam got to school on time and he was always there when Sam got out in the afternoon. It was Dean who tried to get Dad to let them stay in one town long enough for Sam to finish a quarter.

So when Dean said that he thought school was useless, Sam knew his brother was a big fat liar. Even if Dean did think it was stupid, he at least knew it was important to Sam. Sam just liked knowing that someone gave a crap because he was pretty sure Dad didn’t even know he existed.

Given how hard Dean fought to keep him in school, and how much trouble his brother got in for it, Sam never took it for granted. He still couldn’t begin to think about his homework now because all the letters in his textbook were blurry through the tears that filled his eyes.

Sam sat hunched over the kitchen table of the cruddy apartment, hugging himself while the television blared loud enough to annoy the neighbors, who would probably call the manager if they weren’t a bunch of junkies. At least that was what Dean had told him.

He didn’t hear the television. He only heard the sound it was supposed to be disguising – the steady, rhythmic slap of leather beating hard and fast against bare skin.

Sam gripped his pencil as if by holding on to it tight enough he could use it as a magic wand and whisk Dean away. Or at least turn Dad into a frog. Instead, he was left staring blankly down at his algebra assignment to avoid seeing the harsh red blooming over his brother’s pale skin.

He bit his lip and tried to scrub away the moisture that had rolled from his cheeks and dimpled one of the worn textbook’s pages. When he tried to wipe a drop from his worksheet, it smudged the ink of his name, which was the only thing he’d been able to write so far tonight.

Sam noisily crumpled the paper and threw it at the wall, half hoping that Dad would see, but he didn’t. Dad never saw Sam. He was too busy finding reasons to hurt Dean, not that he even needed one.

Dean hadn’t done anything wrong. He never did. But every night, instead of getting to eat dinner, Dean had to take off all his clothes.

When Sam was little, Dean had told him that he didn’t like dinner and he was fat anyway. Sam had never thought his brother was fat. He didn’t know why Dad told Dean that when Dean was thinner than him, but for a while, Dean had convinced Sam that he really didn’t like dinner.

That was until one of the nights they’d been waiting on a bus stop bench while Dad was inside a bar. Dean must have thought Sam was asleep, and he almost had been, but he’d peeked when he’d felt the warmth of his brother leave his side.

Dean had gotten up to sneak fried rice from a takeout carton that someone had tossed into the trash. When Sam called him on it, Dean said that was gross and that Sam had weird dreams. He also looked guilty and sad so Sam stopped talking about it.

A week later, Sam had finished a school report on Mahatma Gandhi, who would never have hurt people like Dad did. Sam had decided that Gandhi was the coolest person to ever live, besides his big brother, of course.

Sam promptly went on a hunger strike. If he refused to eat dinner until Dean got to, then Dad would have let Dean eat too. Instead, Dean had gotten a spanking in place of each meal the next day. Sam ate dinner the next night.

Plan B had been obvious. They were going to runaway together. Sam had packed his and Dean’s bags and even stolen the stash of backup money he knew Dad kept in the bottom right pocket of his duffel. He had everything but Dean, who said Sam was being a stupid kid and took the whipping for the misplaced money.

They’d been going with Plan C for a while now. That was the one where Sam bypassed Dad completely, sneaking Dean food that he wrapped in a napkin and hid in Dean’s pillowcase so Dean could eat it after Dad fell asleep. Dean had argued that he wasn’t supposed to have it until Sam had pouted so big that Dean agreed to eat it.

While Sam had figured out how to get Dean enough food so he didn’t have to lie awake and listen to his brother’s stomach rumble, he still hadn’t been able to figure out how to stop Dad from hurting Dean.

It was worse than just having to watch because Sam had to get Dad whatever he was going to hit Dean with while Dean undressed.

Sam had just started kindergarten the first night Dad had told him to get the hairbrush. It had seemed silly, but he hadn’t thought twice about it until Dad had taken the brush from him and hit Dean with it until his brother had cried.

It was the last time Sam had ever trusted his dad.

Dad hadn’t touched Sam, but Sam had cried way longer and louder than Dean, which he knew just made him a big baby. He hadn’t cared. All he really remembered was that after Dean’s timeout in the chair was over, he’d found Sam hiding behind the couch and scooped him up into his arms. He’d promised it was okay and that Dad was doing what he had to.

He didn’t believe any of the crap about Dad, but he didn’t have a choice either. Saying no didn’t stop anything. If Dad had to get whatever he wanted himself then Dean just got hit twice as much.

Sam used the sleeve of his shirt, which was two sizes too big, to swipe at his cheeks. He pushed his textbook aside with an angry shove and it was maybe not entirely accidental that the book slid over the edge of the table to clunk onto the floor loud enough to break Dad’s rhythm.

Dad turned a sharp glare on Sam who raised his chin and crossed his arms defiantly over his chest. Instead of coming over to deal with Sam, Dad just reared his arm back and let the leather slice down over Dean’s lower thighs. Sam all but jumped out of his chair as Dean yelped, jerking up before quickly lying back down.

“Pick it up or it goes in the trash,” Dad said with a sharp nod towards the book.

Sam’s gut flipped as his mind instantly jumped to how he would explain that to his math teacher. He knew Dean would find a way to get the book back for him, but he also knew Dean would get hurt more for it.

He was halfway off his chair when the phone began to ring.

“Sam, shut off that damn television.”

Dad barked the order like he hadn’t been the one that turned the annoying thing on to begin with. He and Dean weren’t even allowed to watch television. Despite wanting to point that out, Sam just sniffled and hopped from his chair to click it off as Dad answered the phone.

“This is Detective Alexis,” Dad said.

Sam rolled his eyes and wondered why Dad needed so many names, not that Sam actually cared what stupid thing Dad was lying about on the phone. All he could hear was Dean’s quiet gasps, sharp breaths that his brother didn’t allow himself when Dad was listening.

Without really looking at him, Dad laid the belt over Dean’s back and walked away. Dean was so used to the weight of the leather that he didn’t even flinch at its touch.

Dad was soon caught up talking about bodies and gross, scary stuff that Sam wished he’d never found out about. For years, he had harassed Dean about why they lived like they did until he’d finally found Dad’s journal, which for some reason, had upset Dean way more than Dad hitting him.

That night, Dean had told Sam everything about the demons, and Sam’s entire world had crumbled apart.

Sam had never talked about it, but somehow Dad had figured out that Sam knew. Dean was never a tattletale about anything Sam did wrong. Usually, he went out of his way to cover it up, but Dean always reported anything he did to Dad. He’d probably gotten a spanking for Sam finding the book.

However he had figured it out, Dad didn’t hide things from Sam anymore. Now Sam had to look at creepy crime scene photos with dead eyes staring at him and newspaper clippings about demons tacked up all over the walls. Worst of all, Dean seemed even sadder than he’d used to.

Sam was sorry he’d ever asked about any of it.

“There was another attack,” Dad said as he hung up the phone. “The latest was in Walsenburg.”

The words “so what?” rested on the tip of Sam’s tongue. They would’ve slipped out if Sam’s watery eyes weren’t already locked on the angry welt rising over his brother’s thighs, all because Sam had put up a fuss with his textbook. He forced his jaw to lock, silently watching as Dad lifted the belt from Dean’s back.

Dean started to stand as soon as the weight of the leather was gone. It was normal for Dad to bring Dean along on hunts, but this time he smacked Dean’s sore butt and put a hand on his shoulder to push him back down over the arm of the couch.

“You’re not finished, are you?” Dad asked Dean.

It didn’t actually sound like a question and, despite the uncertainty on his face, Dean rested his arms back on the couch cushion and braced his legs again. Sam watched his brother’s shoulders stiffen and wanted to kick Dad in the shin.

“No, sir.”

“Sam’s going to finish this.”

Dean sucked in a breath that almost broke into a sob. He closed his eyes and buried his head in his arms.

Dad hit Dean with a sharp lash of leather that made his head shoot back up. Sam sucked in a sob of his own.

“Answer me, Dean.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied after a hard swallow, but his entire body was shaking.

“Hey, come on, now.” Dad ran his hand down the side of Dean’s bare thigh with a gentle circular motion. After a moment, Dean leaned into the touch. Something about it bothered Sam almost as much as Dad hitting Dean. “You know we need to protect your brother, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

The reply was automatic. Sam was so lost in the distance in his brother’s eyes that he didn’t at first see the belt being held out to him. Up until that point, he hadn’t really let himself process what Dad was saying.

“You want me to…?” Sam shook his head and backed away. “No.”

He wasn’t sure that he’d ever said that word out loud to Dad before. It didn’t matter that it would make him angry. There was no way he could do what Dad was ordering him to. He couldn’t hurt his brother.

When the tears again began to flow, Dad reached out to set a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Without thinking, Sam flinched away, backing up further.

“Enough.” Dad’s icy tone froze Sam mid-step. “If I’m going to keep leaving you two alone, I need to know that I can trust you with this.”

Sam wanted Dad to let him be alone with Dean. It was stupid that their Dad still freaked out about leaving them by themselves for a night. Dean was almost old enough to drive, and Sam wasn’t a little kid anymore either.

They were practically old enough to get a house by themselves where Sam could keep Dean safe. Dean could make him pancakes every morning with blueberries and whipped cream, and Dean could eat all the burgers he wanted. They could sleep all morning without Dean being dragged out of bed to train while it was still dark outside.

Sam wanted more than anything to take Dean away and start a new life where they could be normal and happy. No matter how much he wanted that though, Dad was crazy if he thought Sam was going to spank Dean to get it.

If he had his way, leather straps, hairbrushes and anything that looked like a stick would be banned. He hated them and he hated Dad and he hated that Dean just lay draped over the couch waiting for somebody to hit him.

Sam had seen his brother rip demons apart like they were nothing and Dean had almost killed an entire group of bullies at school for saying that Sam had funny hair. He didn’t really want Dean to kill Dad, but he at least wanted him to hit Dad back because the way Dad treated Dean was way worse than those kids had treated Sam. It wasn’t fair.

His breaths were coming so quick that he could barely get any air, but somehow he still managed to shout at his Dad.

“Why don’t you just leave Dean alone?”

A return shout or another lash to Dean would have upped the desperation of Sam’s tirade. It would have proved that Dad was the monster Sam thought he was. Now he didn’t know what to think because it wasn’t rage in Dad’s eyes.

Dad looked scared, maybe sad like Dean. It was enough to shock Sam into silence. He watched warily as Dad took in a heavy breath before looking up from the floor.

“I can’t always be here to protect you, Sam, and if you can’t watch out for your brother...” Dad grimaced a little when he glanced over his shoulder to Dean before returning his eyes to Sam. “I don’t want to have to kill him, but I won’t lose both my sons.”

“Kill Dean?”

The words tumbled from Sam’s mouth in a panic. On the couch, Dean lay still, staring down at the cushions like he already knew Dad was planning to kill him and didn’t care.

“No!” Sam scrambled to put himself between his brother and Dad, holding his arms out as if he could block Dad if he had to. “You can’t kill Dean. I won’t let you.”

There was a moist brightness to Dad’s eyes that Sam had never seen before. “That’s the last thing I want. You know I love you boys.”

With a shake of his head, Sam took another step closer to his brother. “If you loved him, you wouldn’t hurt him. You wouldn’t-”

“Sammy, shut up,” Dean interrupted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sam probably looked like a total dork standing there with his mouth gaping open, but he couldn’t pull it closed. He couldn’t do anything but stand there staring dumbly at his brother, who had apparently been hit hard enough to shake his brain loose.

“What’d I do?” Sam asked. “I’m just trying to help, Dean.”

“Then take the damn belt.” Dean’s words were quiet and sharp.

“Listen to your brother, Sam,” Dad said. “This is the last thing I want, but it’s the only way we can keep your brother alive. I need you to do this for Dean.”

Sam wanted to tell his dad to go jump off a bridge, but he could feel Dean’s silent urging. For Dean, he reached out to take the leather that was warm and a little slick from having been held so long in Dad’s hands. Sam’s own hands were trembling so badly he could barely wrap his fingers around the strap.

“What do I do?” The numb words only barely made it past his lips.

“Swing as hard as you can, son.”

It was all Dad said before turning the television back on, grabbing his jacket, and heading for the door. The door shut soundly behind him and Sam was left standing in the middle of the living room, gripping the leather of Dean’s belt like it was a lifeline.

He didn’t even know why his brother kept wearing a belt when all Dad did was hit him with it. Sam looked between the evil thing in his hands and his big brother braced naked against the couch. Dean’s legs were shaking and it hurt just to look at the color of red his skin had been tinted.

Sam didn’t want Dean to die, but he didn’t know how hurting him would save him. He waited until he heard the Impala’s engine fade into the night before dropping the belt to the ground and running to his brother.

“Dean, get up!”

When Sam tugged urgently on his brother’s arm, Dean looked at him like he’d grown a second head. He gave a weary sigh that sounded way too much like Dad’s.

“No, Sammy.” The words were almost too soft to hear and Sam froze at the look in Dean’s eyes. His brother was going to cry and it was going to be Sam’s fault. “You heard Dad.”

“Dad’s wrong. He can’t kill you. I don’t think Dads are even allowed to do that and he can’t hit you just because he wants to.”

“He doesn’t want to. He’s doing this for me, because I need it.”

“Why? You didn’t even do anything wrong.”

For some reason, the words made Dean recoil before he recovered to stare at Sam like he was an idiot. He wasn’t. Sam had investigated this spanking stuff because it had never looked like it hurt any of the other kids at school just to sit.

It turned out that people didn’t actually like to talk about spanking. When he’d asked for books from the library, the librarian had looked concerned and suggested he go see the school counselor. He knew from Dad that school counselors were all demons, so he switched from book research to the next step of a hunt - interviews.

Dean would be mad if he knew Sam had gone around surveying civilians about him, but he hadn’t actually said anything about Dean or their family specifically, so it didn’t even break any of Dad’s rules. He’d got a lot of different answers and had come to the conclusion that Dean wasn’t the only kid on the planet to get spankings.

However, his brother was possibly the only one to get hit for absolutely no reason. Someone had to do something wrong to get a spanking. That was the rule. But Dean was perfect.

Dean was strong and smart and he always took care of Sam and Dad. He never asked for anything back, not even for Dad to stop hurting him, and that meant Dad wasn’t playing fair.

“I will.” Even beneath the blare of the television, Dean’s voice startled Sam. He pushed his bangs aside and raised a questioning brow to Dean who reluctantly continued, “I’ll hurt you if you don’t do this.”

Sam looked at Dean with disbelief and almost laughed, but not because it was funny. It was totally ridiculous and probably the stupidest thing Sam had ever heard his brother say.

There was nothing in this world that Sam was sure of aside from the fact that Dean would always be there. No matter what, Dean would always protect him.

“You’d never hurt me.”

Again Dean flinched at the words, taking in a sharp breath and looking indecisive. By the time he opened his mouth to speak, he was looking away.

“Sammy, you don’t know what I am.”

“You’re my big brother.”

Dean’s breath hitched. A tear broke through his attempt to hold them back and trailed down the freckles of his cheek. “Then you gotta do this for me.”

Sam knew his stubborn brother wouldn’t get up before this was resolved, and he didn’t want to look at the forming bruises on Dean’s butt anymore, so he went to sit where Dean could see him. He settled onto the couch, sitting on the sunken middle cushion with his legs tucked beneath him.

Dean kept his eyes down and picked at the worn threads holding on one of the cushion’s buttons. “I didn’t want you to know, but it’s in me.”

“What is?”

“The demon.”

Sam blinked disbelievingly and downgraded Dean’s statement about hurting Sam to the second most stupid thing his brother had ever said. “You’re not a demon.”

“You just can’t tell because Dad keeps it under control, but it’s inside of me and if you don’t finish this, it could get out.”

The tears again sprang to Sam’s eyes at the pain and fear that seeped from Dean’s voice. His brother was crying now, almost choking with the effort to be silent about it, like Sam couldn’t see the wet trails running down to his chin.

Sam’s overly long bangs flopped over his eyes as he shook his head. He desperately tried to hide behind them. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I know, but it’s my fault. This is all my fault, Sammy. I’m sorry.”

There was something in the words, something heavy and sour that Sam couldn’t translate.

He heard Dean say he was sorry a hundred times a day. It was almost all he said when Dad was around, aside from “yes, sir” or “no, sir.” This was different. The tone rang of deep confession, like Dean had been waiting years to make this particular apology to Sam.

Sam felt like a jerk for not understanding something that was obviously so important to his brother. He wanted to ask why Dean was sorry, but his mouth wouldn’t move as he watched his brother drop his head into his arms to hide his face.

A lost feeling rose to swallow Sam. He’d never seen his brother so openly broken.

All he could think to do was scoot closer and wrap his arms around Dean’s neck. When he felt Dean’s entire body quake, Sam pressed his own wet cheek against Dean’s hair and buried his face in the familiar, musky scent.

He didn’t know how long it was before Dean shifted, bringing a hand up to wipe away the moisture.

“I never ask you for anything.”

Dean’s words came out of nowhere and were true enough to cut Sam. No matter how wrong this seemed, Dean was begging for this, and Sam was blowing him off after everything Dean had done for him.

Sam sat up and blotted his cheeks dry. He swung his legs so they were hanging over the edge of the couch, but couldn’t quite bring them to touch the floor, which would take him one step closer to the belt that lay in a tangle at the edge of the throw rug.

“I can’t,” Sam whispered.

“If the demon gets out and makes me hurt you, Dad won’t have to kill me because I’ll do it myself.”

“You can’t!” Sam hopped off the couch to glare at his brother. “I need you, Dean.”

“And I need you to do this. Please, Sammy.”

With uncertain steps, Sam approached the belt. He looked back over his shoulder at Dean after he was again holding the leather in his hands.

“Just tell me why,” Sam said.

“Why what?”

“Why is me hitting you going to help you?”

“The pain drives back the demon. That’s why Dad has to do it every night.”

“So it always hurts?”

It wasn’t really a question and Sam really didn’t want to hear the answer spoken aloud.

His fingers wrapped painfully tight around the belt that he had doubled over just like he’d seen Dad do a million times. He wanted not to be like Dad as badly as he wanted to take Dean away from here, but now he was standing behind Dean, looking at his brother’s harshly blushed skin, and thinking about hitting him.

Sam knew he had to hit Dean. Dean knew everything and if Dean said this was important, it was. He just wasn’t sure if he should try to get it over with or if he was going to have to run to the bathroom to throw up first.

He tucked his free hand into the sleeve of his hoodie and tried to wipe the sting from his eyes so he could actually see what he was doing.

“Just pretend you’re swinging a bat,” Dean instructed.

Sam was never going to play baseball again.

He repositioned his grip on the leather strap so he was holding it with both shaking hands and was sure the buckle couldn’t hit Dean. Sam knew exactly how deeply the sharp metal could gouge his brother’s skin. When the light was right, he could still see the scars.

It had been one of the only days that Dean hadn’t been there to pick him up after school. Sam had eventually gotten worried and headed back on his own. He’d found Dean in the shower, shaking under the cold spray of water with blood streaming down his back.

No one else had been in the apartment, but the floor was smeared with blood where the belt buckle lay. Dad hadn’t come home that night and Dean had never talked about it.

Dean repositioned himself over the couch arm. “My stomach’s starting to hurt.”

“Mine too,” Sam replied.

“I’m sorry you gotta do this, Sammy.”

Dean apologizing for Sam having to hit him was nearly enough to make him drop the belt again, but he forced his grip to tighten. He knew if he let it fall, he wouldn’t be able to pick it up again.

“I’m gonna try,” Sam said.

There was a quick nod before Dean spread his legs and Sam swung. It wasn’t as easy as it looked.

The belt flopped awkwardly, just flapping against the back of Dean’s thigh. It probably would’ve tickled if Dean wasn’t already hurting so badly. Sam knew he hadn’t put enough force into the swing. He wasn’t sure that he could.

“Harder.” Dean’s tone was anxious and he was starting to twitch. “You gotta do it a lot harder.”

“I’m trying!” Sam snapped.

He instantly hated himself when Dean flinched at the tone. It was obvious from Dean’s tightened posture that he was expecting pain to follow. When it didn’t come, he forced the tension from his shoulders.

“You’re doing good,” Dean said.

The words brought a fresh flood of tears. There was nothing good about this. This was his brother, hurting, and all Sam wanted was to make the pain stop, but he also didn’t want Dad or the demon to get Dean.

He took in a deep breath and then reared his arms back. By the third stroke he’d managed to do as Dad had ordered and was swinging as hard as he could, or at least as hard as he could stand to.

The sound of each lash jerked more of a reaction from Sam than it did from his brother, though Dean’s fists clutched the couch cushion and the color of his skin darkened.

When Sam stopped, too exhausted emotionally, if not physically, to lift his arms even one more time, Dean remained draped over the couch. Sam realized that his brother was trying to dry his eyes before looking back over his shoulder. Dean pushed up stiffly, twisting around to try to check Sam’s work, probably to see if it would be good enough for Dad.

The moment his brother’s bloodshot eyes met his, Dean jolted upright. He almost stumbled in an effort to get to Sam, who was sinking to his knees by the time he felt his brother pull him into his arms. Sam’s entire body was numb.

Dean clutched him tightly to his chest and Sam blindly threw his arms around Dean as if there were someway to pull him closer even though they were already smashed together. His brother knelt beside him, running a hand through his hair while Sam hid against the bare skin of Dean’s chest. He could feel the thunder of Dean’s heart beating against his ear.

He was pretty sure that they’d both apologized a hundred times before Sam was hiccupping and trying to wipe away the snot he’d smeared over Dean’s sweaty skin. Dean shrugged it off and unwound himself from Sam before limping towards the shoebox-sized kitchenette.

Sam pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his chin on his knees as he watched Dean turn off the television and walk right past his clothes, which Sam wanted him to put on.

It wasn’t like Sam had a problem with his brother being naked. He was used to it. Unless they had to leave for a hunt, Dad didn’t let Dean get dressed until the next morning. Sam also took most of his showers with Dean, either to save more hot water for Dad or because, when they moved around during the summer, they only had five minutes to hit the showers before getting back on the road.

Sam grimaced at just the thought of denim scraping against the skin that already had Dean struggling to hide a cringe and he wondered if Dad was actually doing Dean a favor by having him not get dressed. He still selfishly wished Dean would put on his pants so that he wouldn’t have to stare at what would become Dean’s newest bruises. Bruises that Sam would have helped put there.

Sam looked down, suddenly fascinated with his untied shoelace, until he heard Dean open one of the cupboards. He raised his head to watch his brother pour the clear liquid from his flask into a chipped glass. Dean drank that stuff all the time, but Sam didn’t actually know what it was.

“Is that vodka?” Sam asked.

Dean took a salt canister and poured some into the glass, dissolving the salt into the liquid with a lazy stir of his finger. He stayed quiet as he watched the residual cyclone of the now cloudy liquid before lifting the glass from the counter, and turning back towards Sam, while not quite looking at him.

“It’s holy water.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. It slowly sank in that this wasn’t a sick joke. His brother really had a demon inside of him.

He needed to research. Now that Sam knew what was going on, he was going to find a way to fix this so Dean didn’t have to be hurt anymore and no one would have to die.

They both fell into silence while Sam tried to sort it out in his head. The more he thought, the more he realized that he didn’t actually know that much about demons, aside from the fact that they were evil and hurt people.

“Are you like Batman?” Sam asked.

Dean made a face before chugging down the glass of salty water. He coughed then quirked a brow to Sam. “Dude, Batman’s a superhero. I’m like the Joker but not half as cool.”

Sam scrunched his nose. “You’re way cooler than the stupid Joker. You’re my big brother.”

It was Sam’s answer to everything because it was the only thing that really mattered, and Sam didn’t actually like the Batman story. He just smuggled the comics to his brother because he knew how much Dean liked them and sometimes, when Dad wasn’t around, Dean had read them to him.

Sam reconsidered his analogy before trying again. “I mean, is it like you’re Bruce and the demon is Batman?”

Dean set the glass aside before leaning an elbow against the counter and shrugging. “I guess. Why?”

“So can’t we just make Batman go away?”

“Sure, but you can’t kill Batman without killing Bruce.”

Sam frowned, hugging his knees tighter as he became lost in thought.

“Look, Sammy, I’d get it if you don’t want me around anymore. I know what I am and...”

There was no time for Dean to finish the sentence before Sam pushed to his feet and ran forward, all but tackling his brother into a hug. He held Dean as tightly as he thought he could without hurting him, afraid that his brother might vanish if he let go.

“I don’t want you to die, Dean.”

Dean twined his arms around Sam’s shoulders and rested his chin on Sam’s head. “Dad won’t kill me unless he has to, but that means you’re going to have to spank me when he tells you to.”

Knowing what his brother was didn’t change anything. It wasn’t Dean’s fault that he had a demon in him, and he was still Dean. He’d never hurt Sam.

“But it hurts you too.”

“I can take it. I’m you’re awesome big brother, remember?”

Sam gave a nod against Dean’s chin, not quite able to speak.

“Dad knows what he’s doing,” Dean continued. “You don’t know how bad this thing is...what it makes me do. Promise me, Sammy.”

Sam gave a huff and nestled his head tighter against Dean’s chest. “I promise. But why can’t you eat dinner?”

“Because it dilutes the holy water.”

“Why do you have to take all your clothes off when Dad just hits you on the butt?”

He couldn’t see Dean’s face, but he felt the muscles of his brother’s body go rigid for an instant before Dean abruptly let go of him and gave an agitated shrug. “Why do you have to ask so many stupid questions?”

“Because I’m worried about you.”

Dean’s features softened and he ruffled his hand through Sam’s hair. He patted Sam’s shoulder then walked over to grab his clothes. With a stifled groan, Dean tugged up his worn pants and snatched up the belt to casually weave back into its loops. He slipped on his shirt and tucked his gun into his waistband before grabbing a jacket to toss at Sam.

Sam was so busy trying to figure out what was going on that the jacket almost hit him in the face. He fumbled to grab it at the last second.

“Come on, squirt,” Dean said with a wave of his arm.

“What? Dad never lets us go out.”

“I know, but him and I drove out to Walsenburg last week. It took like six hours. He won’t be back until tomorrow, and this is important.”

The change in Dean’s mood made Sam dizzy. Dean was like that and it did kind of remind Sam of Batman. His brother could be totally different people depending on what was happening or who was around.

Sam didn’t understand what they were doing and he wasn’t sure that his brother knew either. Dean had that look he got when he came up with a spontaneous plan that usually ended badly. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like Sam was going to tell Dean no, and they’d have some time before Dad got back to do damage control.

They left the apartment, and Sam was pretty sure he was dreaming when they stopped outside the local arcade.

A couple of weeks ago, one of his friends at school had invited him here for a birthday party. Sam had told his brother all about how excited he was and how much fun it was going to be. That night, Dad had told Sam that he had needed help with research and it couldn’t wait. Sam has been too mad to see straight, but hadn’t wanted Dean to get an extra spanking, so he’d stayed.

It wasn’t until Dean opened the door for him, and slid a wad of cash into his hands, that Sam remembered it was his own birthday.

“I couldn’t get you anything cool without Dad noticing, but he can’t take this away.”

If Sam had said the words, they would have been angry and hurt. Dean’s tone wasn’t. It was just matter of fact and that alone rekindled Sam’s anger. As usual, Dean was right though. Dad couldn’t throw out his memories.

Inside the arcade, it was noisy and full of people. Dean was on guard so Sam wasn’t scared. His brother could kill anything.

Before they hit the games, Sam drank a huge glass of root beer and ate soggy cheese pizza that was the best thing he’d ever tasted. He wrapped up some for Dean to eat later, and after Dean made him tell the waiters that it was his birthday, everyone sang to him. Dean almost teased him enough to make him forget about what had happened earlier.

The only reminder was that Dean spent the entire dinner standing beside the booth, rather than sitting. Sam leaned against him and guessed it was more about keeping watch than anything else. Dad always made Dean sit to clean weapons or research after a spanking, so the standing was weird, but it was hard to slide out of these booths and anyone here could be a demon.

They taught each other how to play the games until the arcade closed.

On the way back to the apartment, Sam was practically bouncing and he kept colliding off of Dean. They normally walked so their sides brushed together. That way they always knew where each other was even when they were both looking up at the sky.

Sam pointed out the constellations that he was learning at school and Dean made up a few of his own, one of which was an Impala. The star arrangement looked so much like the car that Sam wasn’t sure how no one else had discovered it before.

He didn’t even care that it was a school night and that he was going to have to do his math assignment during English.

Back at the apartment, he didn’t do anything besides pick up his textbook from the floor and try to smooth the crinkles from his crumpled algebra assignment while Dean undressed. He stuffed them into his backpack before climbing into bed and spooning against Dean.

They stayed up long enough so that Dean could eat the pizza and cake and kept talking for at least an hour after that. Sam fell asleep in Dean’s arms somewhere between telling him about the house he was going to buy him and the dog they would have.

During breakfast the next morning, Dean unfastened his jeans and slid a wooden spoon across the counter before telling Dad everything.

While Sam choked on his Lucky Charms, Dad jerked down Dean’s pants and shoved him forward over one of the tall kitchen chairs. It rocked under the force of the push and Dean scurried to position himself before Dad could lay into him.

When Sam saw Dean shudder at the first hard strike of wood against already bruised skin, he silently promised that one way or another, he would get Dean away from here. He would get him that house and he’d find a way to get the Impala away from Dad.

Just like Dean had told him when they had been falling asleep last night, their life would get better. It had to. Things couldn’t get worse, and they couldn’t live like this forever.


	3. Chapter 3

_May 20, 2001- Seattle, Washington_

Dean was stripping before the motel room’s door had latched shut. It only took a second because he hadn’t even bothered to button up his pants after the hunt. He peeled his t-shirt from sticky skin and let his jeans slide down the slender angles of his hips.

Beneath the fabric were so many half-dried layers of blood, and more dubious fluids that there was no telling what had come from the demons and what had come from Dean’s own body.

Before Sam could set the weapons bag down, the damn belt had already been slid from its loops, was doubled over and clenched in Dean’s fist. Dean was holding it out for Dad, but Dad was busying himself with digging through his bag and refused to look at Dean. Sam gritted his teeth and shot Dad a glare as Dean grew anxious for someone to beat him.

The last thing Sam wanted was for Dean to get a whipping now, but it wasn’t an option of whether or not it would happen. They had to protect Dean from the demon and Dad didn’t have to be a bastard about it.

Sam raised his brow at Dad when his father again zipped up his bag and flung it over his shoulder. Dad spoke without looking to either him or Dean.

“There are some things that need to be cleaned up before we can leave town.”

Dad left the unspoken order hanging in the air and turned for the door. Dean’s shoulders visibly sagged and he jerked as if slapped when the door slammed closed. Sam’s eyes wandered over the bloody form of his brother, dejectedly holding the belt, and Sam had half a mind to storm after Dad.

“I shouldn’t have taken so long,” Dean said to no one in particular.

This was exactly why Sam was going to strangle Dad. Now Dean had convinced himself that he’d screwed up because Dad had waited too long to move in. Of course it was Dean’s fault that Dad hadn’t given him enough time to check the site before berating him for a failed cleanup of a place they’d blown up anyway.

“You did good, Dean.”

Sam nearly gagged the moment the familiar words left his mouth. He tried not to notice that Dean’s dark eyes lightened just a little at the phrase that Sam had only ever heard Dad say on nights like these.

He was hit with the image of Dean broken in Dad’s arms, of all the times this had happened before without Sam realizing the extent of it. It would never happen again. Sam would make sure of that, but they still had to make it through tonight.

“Is it bad?” Sam asked.

Dean gritted his jaw and nodded. His eyes were glassy as he rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t think I can hold it back much longer.”

“You don’t have to. I got it.”

When Sam reached to take the belt, his hand brushed against the scraped up skin of his brother’s palm. Panic flared in Dean’s eyes and he jerked his hand away.

“Damn it!” Dean rubbed his blood-coated hands over the just as dirty skin of his thighs as if he could somehow just brush off the demons’ contamination.

“It’s okay, Dean. See?”

Sam showed his brother his still-clean hands as proof, but Dean seemed to see something there that Sam couldn’t.

“Wash your hands,” Dean said as he turned away. “There’s too much of this crap on me. I gotta clean up first.”

Dean grabbed the cleansing supplies from his bag before Sam could argue. He fixed his eyes on the patchy carpet, taking in several deep breaths, then disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed quickly behind him.

Sam shifted the weight of the belt in his hands and pursed his lips as he stared at the dirty white of the closed door. Dean wasn’t allowed to close the bathroom door, especially not when Sam was supposed to be monitoring him.

While Sam didn’t give a crap about Dad’s stupid rules, he knew there was a reason for some of them. He wasn’t sure if it was safe to leave Dean alone with the demon so close to the surface. Even though he knew he should go in after Dean, he couldn’t do that to his brother.

Despite what Dad insisted, Sam was all but certain that his brother had just been gang raped. Sam wasn’t going to steal Dean’s last shred of dignity by insisting that he let him watch while he cleaned out the demons’ residue.

Sam didn’t think he even could watch without breaking down. He realized that Dean probably knew that. Maybe his brother didn’t even want to be alone right now.

His palm grew sweaty against the belt. It lay over his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, drumming his fingers over the leather. He was becoming increasingly uneasy the longer Dean was out of sight. Sam could take care of himself and he didn’t think the demon would want to hurt its own host, but his nerves were stripped raw by even the remote possibility that it might.

Sam pushed off the bed, leaving the belt behind, and listened at the bathroom door. The shower had been turned off a while ago.

He knocked at the door and didn’t get an answer. After giving it a moment longer, he peeked inside. Dad would have bitched him out for going in without his gun drawn, but a gun wouldn’t help. Even if the demon fully took hold, Sam knew he’d let it take him before he even thought about shooting his brother.

Dean wretched as Sam stepped into the bathroom. He was crumpled on the floor, clutching his stomach as he heaved. His lashes were matted with a stinging mix of tears and cold sweat.

When he noticed Sam, Dean made a vague attempt to wipe his cheeks before his face twisted and he again leaned over the toilet bowl. By the time he had finished, Dean was clinging to the porcelain seat as if it were the only thing holding him up.

Sam shot an accusing look towards the bottle of ipecac syrup sitting beside the sink as he moistened a cool washcloth. He lowered himself beside Dean who was half crammed between the wall and the toilet.

It took some work to fold his lanky limbs so that Sam could get as close as possible to his brother. His arm wrapped around Dean’s shaking shoulders to steady him while Sam used the washcloths to clean up Dean’s face, starting with the tears he chose not to mention and moving down to his chin.

“Can you still feel it?” Sam asked.

Dean’s nod was weak. His eyes closed and his head tipped to lie against Sam’s shoulder as if it were too heavy for him to support on his own. His breaths came in exhausted pants while Sam set aside the washcloth and ran his hand over the wet spikes of Dean’s hair.

As his breathing began to steady, Sam moved his hand down to rub at the nape of Dean’s neck. His brother stiffened beneath the touch and Sam jerked his fingers away.

He carefully released Dean before his hand balled into a fist. They should have killed those demons slower. Sam stood and fought to calm himself before Dean could think he was mad at him.

Sam busied himself by unhooking the enema bag from the shower rod and taking it over to the sink to rinse out the remains of the cold, salty water.

“I did two liters,” Dean rasped.

Sam couldn’t begin to tell Dean how much he didn’t care, aside from the fact that he wished Dean hadn’t had to do it at all. He remained silent with the thoughts in his own head until he caught the reflection in the mirror of Dean rising onto shaky legs. He set the bag and tubing aside to dry and turned to offer Dean his support.

It took him a moment to realize why Dean looked strange. His brother was wearing underwear. Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Dean wearing any. It was too much trouble to deal with, according to Dad, who had always said Dean would just have to take them off all the time anyway.

Dean looked uneasy as he followed Sam’s eyes. “Sorry, I’ll give them back...do you mind?”

Sam was too confused to ask, but just shook his head. “Uh...no. Of course not, Dean.”

He let the “as long as Dad doesn’t see” remain unspoken because Dean knew that part better than anyone. Aside from that, Dean could have both his kidneys if he wanted them. Sam sure didn’t care about him wearing his underwear. He’d worn Dean’s clothes all the time when they were growing up.

Dean seemed to have regained his balance and turned to the counter. In the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom, Sam could see the subtleties of the cuts marring Dean’s body. His freckles stood out harshly over porcelain skin spotted with bruises, new and old.

His hand wasn’t all that steady as he poured his salt into a water-filled, wax-coated, paper cup they’d saved from the last fast food restaurant they’d gone to. He shook another pile of salt into his hand and knocked it back into his mouth, grimacing as he forced it down with the holy water.

“Fuck, Dean.”

Sam snatched the salt away before his brother thought about taking anymore. The ipecac Dean used to throw up made him sick for a while. The salt was just going to come back up in a little bit, which was probably why Dean was concentrating it.

“You got my belt?” It was hard to ignore the urgency in his brother’s voice.

Sam nodded and tried to blank his mind as he left the bathroom and headed back towards the bed. When he turned around with the leather in hand, Dean was leaning in the bathroom’s doorframe. He glanced down, motioning towards the underwear.

“Can I keep them on?”

It was clear from his tone that Dean knew better than Sam that it wasn’t allowed. He also knew Sam wouldn’t say no.

Unlike Dad, Sam could tell the difference between requests made by his brother and those made by the demon. Sam couldn’t imagine that the worn thin fabric of the underpants would ease the pain any. He wished it could.

Sam’s eyes became busy cataloging how badly the rough floor and debris from the hunt site had skidded up Dean’s knees. He refocused his attention when Dean walked away to turn on the television before taking up position at the end of the bed.

Dean bent forward, palms spread over the tacky beige comforter and legs parted to brace himself. His head slumped down towards his chest. Sam didn’t need to see his face to know that his eyes were closed.

He always seemed to be concentrating right before it began and Sam wondered, not for the first time, how much it really took from Dean to fight this thing back.

Sam offered his touch in slow, soft movements over Dean’s thigh in an effort to calm both their nerves. The skin was now clean like it had never been caked in blood. Sam’s gut still twisted at each faded scar his finger tips brushed over.

He moved his hand up to Dean’s back both to steady and warn him. Dean trembled beneath his touch.

“You really okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Sammy. Just hurry it up.”

The words were a lie, yet the tone was reassuring and anxious enough that Sam continued. After a placement tap with the belt, Sam laid down a barrage of hard strokes. Drawing it out with half-strength lashes didn’t do Dean any favors and, demon aside, anything Sam didn’t give, Dad would only give worse.

Dean was usually frighteningly quiet, just riding out the exorcism while the television droned in the background. Tonight, his shoulders were tensed before Sam barely started. Sam gave a worried grimace as he watched Dean’s body jerk noticeably with each stroke. He let up the force of his swings the slight bit he could without Dean complaining that it wasn’t enough.

Counter to Dad’s tactic, Sam tried not to hit the same spot without a break in between. Not until they were finished, when he laid three hits over Dean’s sit spot to let him know it was over.

Dean had once told him how much he hated that with Dad, he never knew whether or not another hit was coming. When Sam had brought it up, Dad had said he did on it purpose to confuse the demon. Sam didn’t think the demon gave a crap, so he’d started using the silent cue that worked even on the rare occasion that Dad was in the room, and Dean had soon enough picked up on it.

It had never been a big deal until tonight when Dean let out a strangled cry at the second of the three repeat strokes. The sound clawed Sam’s ears like the aborted wail of a wounded animal.

Dean collapsed down onto the mattress. Sam immediately dropped the belt from his hands and rushed to his brother’s side.

“Sorry,” Dean murmured against the blanket. “I shifted wrong...made you hit my tailbone.”

Sam had to bite his tongue not to tell his brother that he’d have enough padding to protect his tailbone if he’d just eat and stop throwing up all the time. Not that it was on Dean, it was on Sam and Dad for not having tried harder to find a way to expel this demon without beating Dean half to death every time another demon touched him.

It killed Sam every time he had to do it, but it was still worlds better than killing Dean.

Dean was struggling to get back into position when Sam put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. If that hadn’t driven back the demon, none of this would.

Dean remained draped on his stomach over the edge of the bed with his eyes closed. One cheek pressed to the mattress while his mouth parted and his chest heaved. His arms grasped at the edge of the bed and his legs sprawled against the floor. The briefs obscured a lot of it, but the angry red of the skin on his lower ass and upper thighs just stood out all the harsher against the white fabric.

Sam ran a hand through his bangs as he fought to steady his own breathing before turning off the television. With the room quiet, Dean’s quick breaths sounded too loud and strained.

“Better?” Sam asked.

He put his hand to the flushed skin of Dean’s back, searching out the knots he knew would be there and working his palm firmly against them to soothe what aches he could.

“I guess...it’s okay for now.”

Sam frowned at that. As his eyes drank in the night’s abuse written in discolored marks over the expanse of his brother’s skin, all he could see was the demons.

Their hands had worked over the most intimate areas of Dean’s body with perversions of caresses. Sam didn’t want his brother falling asleep with that having been the last way he was touched. He wanted to take back what they’d tried to claim.

His hand slid down the angles of Dean’s back until he reached the waistband of the briefs. Dean shuddered as Sam hooked his thumb beneath the elastic and pulled it down far enough to reveal the red, soon to be purple, marks on Dean’s hips where the demons had held him still. Sam’s own hand set over the discoloration. He wished he could heal his brother with a touch.

“Come on,” Sam said as he helped Dean to get the rest of the way onto the bed.

Dean didn’t argue, didn’t say anything at all, just followed Sam’s command and settled over the sheets, lying on his stomach while Sam stripped off his own clothes. Sam’s eyes travelled over Dean’s sprawled body and the briefs, still indecently hitched halfway down Dean’s hips. Sam hesitated before discarding his own underwear too.

Before he could climb into the bed, Dean was on his knees, perched on the edge of the mattress with his briefs pulled back up. It was creepy how quietly Dean could move. Sometimes it seemed as if he moved without really moving at all.

Dean’s head was raised and eyes lowered, just like he had presented himself to the demons. “Want me to blow you?”

There was a strange hopefulness to Dean’s words that didn’t make any sense. Sam could see how screwed up Dean’s lips already were. There was no way Dean’s throat wasn’t killing him from what the demons had forced down there, from the salt and from heaving it all back up.

The answer was no.

Despite what he let Dean think, it wasn’t actually Sam’s thing on a good day. After seeing first-hand where Dean had learned his techniques, and how they were used to hurt and humiliate him, Sam was even less interested than usual. He didn’t want to be a part of that.

It was one of those things that was great while it was happening - and sometimes it did just happen. Dean would come on to him and Sam would give his brother a chance to be with something that wasn’t a demon.

It wasn’t like it was bad. Sam had never exactly been with anyone else either, and it felt fucking amazing when he was lost in the sensation, with Dean for once not caring about Dad or anything but Sam. He could have all of Dean for his own.

But when it was over, and his blown-out brain came back on line, he didn’t like to think about it. There was just something about having his brother suck his dick that made him queasy.

Fucking was a little less weird. At least that felt like he was giving Dean something back rather than taking something from him. Or at least it had until tonight, when he’d seen the way the demons had fucked Dean. It had been all about taking.

“Do you want to?” Sam asked.

Dean looked thrown off by the question. Usually, Dean didn’t get a choice. His eyes traveled down Sam’s body and he ran a nervous tongue over his split lips.

“If you want me to.”

Even though Dean’s tone was easy, something about the statement made Sam’s stomach lurch. It wasn’t yes. Dean’s submissive posture, the defeat in his eyes, made Sam afraid that Dean wouldn’t have said no if Sam had wanted it.

“And the demons?”

Sam was careful to keep his tone neutral, but Dean’s back went taut. His eyes returned to the comforter he knelt on.

“Dad said you wanted what they did to you, Dean. Not that it was just for the hunt – that you wanted it.”

Slowly, Dean’s eyes rose to lock with Sam’s for the first time since the hunt. “I know I’m fucked to hell.” Dean’s shoulders sagged and his head again bowed. “If you don’t wanna be with me, believe me, I get it.”

There was no way Sam could have dropped down onto the bed fast enough. He eased his brother down with him and didn’t let the contact between their bodies break even as they worked on getting settled.

Sam’s hand dipped back below the waistline of Dean’s briefs. Usually he took Dean on his back so that he could watch his brother’s eyes, but he knew the last thing Dean wanted to do right now was put any pressure on his backside.

His brother gasped his name into the pillow and Sam swept his hands down further until Dean was bare and spreading his legs to open himself to Sam.

“Sammy...”

Dean twitched as Sam’s fingers slipped down his crease. Sam didn’t like the tension in Dean’s body or the desperation in his tone, but as he pressed against the moist heat, he knew his brother wanted this. He’d already prepped himself.

“You’re already...”

Sam knitted his brow. Dean’s opening was slick but not with the thick moistness of lube. His stomach knotted as he pulled back his fingers.

“Oh God, Dean, you’re bleeding.”

The deep scarlet of his brother’s blood painted the tip of Sam’s fingers. Dean said nothing, only pressed up onto all fours to straddle Sam. He bent forward to pull Sam’s fingers into his mouth, sucking clean the hot blood.

“Gross, Dean.”

Dean cocked a brow and did obscene things with his tongue that Sam knew were meant to distract him until Dean was satisfied that he’d removed every last blood cell from Sam’s skin. When he was done, he pulled away, still straddling Sam, but moving down further on the bed.

“How about I just get you off tonight?”

Dean was already lowering himself to the bed between Sam’s legs as he asked the question that was really more of a statement of intent. Sam wasn’t even sure why Dean was so intent on getting him off. It wasn’t like Sam was even a little hard.

Sam didn’t have a chance to say no before Dean’s overworked tongue trailed hot over his skin. He abruptly sat up, just avoiding driving his knee into Dean’s nose. He scooted back against the headboard and stared open-mouthed at his brother. His head tilted, his eyes accusing, not that he should actually have been surprised.

Of course Dean had lied about the blood not being his. Of course he had lied about not being hurt. Of course he didn’t care.

Sam let himself fully consider his brother’s swollen, cracked lips. If the demons had done that kind of damage to Dean’s mouth, it couldn’t be any better with a smaller entrance where they’d been forcing in two at a time.

With a huffed breath, Sam flopped back down onto the pillow. He was such an idiot.

“Dean, why didn’t you tell me?”

“’Cause you’d just go and get freaked out about nothing like you are now. I should’ve prepped better. That’s all,” Dean said. “I just...I didn’t know there’d be so many.”

The words made Sam grit his teeth harder. They’d known exactly how many demons they were hunting. Dad never went in unprepared. What they hadn’t known was that Dad had planned on letting all five demons take their sweet time with Dean.

There was a squeak of fatigued bed springs as Sam pushed back up. He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow as he watched Dean settle back beside him.

Dean was again on his stomach. He folded his arms on top of the pillow and rested his head on them as he seemed occupied with memorizing the wood grains of the headboard. His entire body was tight with pain.

Sam sat up and crawled down the bed. Dean looked over his shoulder to watch him warily. “What’re you doing?”

“Making sure you’re okay.”

Dean began to get up before his protest even left his mouth. “I don’t need you to....”

The instant Sam’s hands were on Dean, his brother was squirming away. Sam rolled over to pin him, the heat of their bare skin pressing tight. Sam bit his lip as Dean groaned beneath him. This was cheating. Not because Dean was smaller than him, but because Dean could kill him if he wanted to and instead, he let Sam win every time.

Dad had always hated that.

When Sam had started hunting, Dad had tried to use Dean for training to show Sam just how big, bad and dangerous demons were. It might have worked out in Dad’s head, but no amount of whippings or pleas from Sam to just do it already had ever succeeded in pitting Dean full force against him.

Dean would spar, but not with the raw brutality the demon within him was capable of. He’d never throw a hit that he didn’t know Sam could block. Sam, in turn, had never let his victories come at the cost of hurting Dean like Dad wanted him to.

He rarely saw Dad and Dean spar. They did it when he wasn’t around. He knew they did it because he saw the bruises on Dean’s body that weren’t consistent with a punishment, but Dad never had any bruises from sparring with Dean and Sam knew why.

It wasn’t because Dad was the untouchable hunter he thought he was. It was only because his son was a better man than Dad would ever see. Sam wished Dad would try sparring with him.

Over the last seven years, Sam had taken over as much of Dean’s discipline as Dad had allowed. He hated it, but Dean needed help controlling himself because he had to put too much of his self-discipline into fighting back the demon - and Sam was fairer about it than Dad.

The exorcisms of the demon he hated even more because that wasn’t something Dean could help. But beating Dean just for the hell of it, nothing Dad could do would ever make Sam do that.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t get frustrated sometimes.

With a harsh crack he landed two solid swats on Dean’s now bare ass. It always shut Dean down even faster than a real spanking with a paddle or strop could. Sam didn’t know why. He didn’t want to know.

All he knew was that if his brother was badly hurt, he needed to find out. It wasn’t like Dean was going to fess up to it on his own.

Dean lay on the bed, but his muscles were still coiled springs. “Just put some damn gloves on if you’re going to touch me again.”

“You already cleaned out, which is probably why you’re bleeding.”

“I was already bleeding.”

Dean jerked away when Sam again put a hand on him. Sam wasn’t sure if he was going to scream or cry first.

“Knock it off, Dean.”

Sam’s warning was accompanied by a swat hard enough to sting his own hand. What should have made a distinct red mark on Dean’s skin only blended in with the already deep blush. Dean made a soft sound of pain, or surrender, before sagging down on the bed.

“My blood’s as dirty as theirs.”

“I know. Just shut up about it already.”

Sam tried not to growl the words. He knew that Dean was scared and hurting and just trying to protect him. It still pissed him off. He was tired of hearing about how awful his brother supposedly was and he was tired of everyone assuming he was an idiot.

“Relax, okay?” Sam’s voice leveled out, gentle and calm as he ran a hand over Dean’s leg. “I’m just going to look.”

“Don’t want you to.”

Sam sighed with the realization that it wasn’t only the physical threat of infection that Dean was trying to protect him from. He would appreciate it if he didn’t know that Dean was just trying to stop him from getting mad at Dad. It was way too late for that.

He squeezed Dean’s arm and rose back onto his knees. Dean pushed up his rear while shoving his face forward into the mattress to muffle any sounds he made. The position was far too practiced.

Sam gently parted Dean’s cheeks and grimaced at the sight that was no better than Dean’s lips. The angry, swollen tissue looked raw and painful and rimmed with fresh blood.

While Sam had been intent on seeing the damage, he realized that he actually had no clue what to do about it. It wasn’t like he could put a band aid or stitches on cuts he couldn’t see. This hadn’t exactly been included in the field medicine training Dad had given him, though he wondered if it had been in Dean’s.

“How bad does it hurt?”

Dean shrugged and lowered back down onto the bed. “I’ll live.”

“He shouldn’t have waited. There was no reason-”

“We had to make sure we had them. All of them.” Dean’s tone was annoyingly calm, the words straight out of Dad’s mouth. “I just shouldn’t have let him take you. You didn’t need to see it.”

There were so many angry words that Sam wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. None of them were meant for Dean so he bit his lip instead.

Dean raised his hips from the mattress just enough for Sam to slide back on the briefs that Sam now realized held a maxi pad secured inside to catch the blood. He positioned it as best he could though he doubted there was any way to make it comfortable. If he’d placed it wrong, Dean didn’t adjust it.

It would save Dean another spanking for dirtying the sheets, but left Sam almost shaking with rage. This had happened enough times before that Dean had a supply of pads on hand. It couldn’t have been the first time Dean had snuck his underwear and slipped into bed with them.

“I shouldn’t have had to see,” Sam said. “I should’ve already known.”

Dean creased his brow and his eyes grew distant. He wrapped his arms around himself as a shiver rocked his body. Sam sat up only enough to click off the lamp before pulling the covers over the both of them. He scooted in beside Dean and they wound so tightly together that they could share a pillow.

Sam absently rubbed his hand over the cool skin of Dean’s bicep as he tried to sort out everything in his head. He needed to find time to sneak to a library to get some information on what he could do to help Dean’s body heal. Mostly, he was already busy arguing with Dad in his head.

He had thought Dean had fallen asleep when a broken whisper shattered the silence. “I screwed everything up.”

“What?” Sam tried to make out Dean’s face in the dim light. “You didn’t do anything, Dean.”

“Didn’t do enough. You’re pissed. Dad’s really fucking pissed. Not that I blame you guys.” Dean drew in a sharp breath. “I can’t even get fucked right.”

If Sam held his brother any tighter, he would crush him. “I’m going to fix this.”

There was no reason Dean should believe him after so many years of broken promises, but he had never lied and he’d never given up. He just hadn’t found the answer yet. Sam prayed he could hold his brother together until he did.

~~~

John scrubbed a hand over the roughness of his cheeks. Even though he’d washed up before heading to the next bar, there was no getting all the blood out from beneath his fingernails. It was a permanent mark on his calloused hands, just like the oil and grease had been back when he’d worked at the garage, and he gave no more thought to it than that.

Dean was meticulous about cleaning his own hands, but he had to be. Sometimes it took Dean scrubbing his skin raw and his son did whatever was necessary.

Tonight had been a successful hunt. They had taken down all the demons without any civilian casualties. If he was a man foolish enough to let his guard down, he would be celebrating now. But he wasn’t a fool.

There would never be victory in this war.

He trudged back towards the motel room. An uncomfortable sensation of guilt hung heavy in the pit of his stomach at having lied to his boys. The twinge was only noticeable for a moment before it became lost in the constant ache of all the other ways he’d failed his sons.

There had been nothing left of the hunt to clean up, aside from having ensured that the flames had done their work before the fire department had been able to extinguish them.

John just hadn’t been able to stand looking at Dean a moment longer.

That perversion had once been his beautiful baby boy. Part of him knew he had lost his son the first night the demon had entered him. He knew it was selfish to make Dean live like this, punishing him nightly for a demon he couldn’t expel, and no better to put the management of Dean on his brother.

As ugly as the situation was, it was necessary, and Sam’s involvement wasn’t about Sam. It was just about the thing that resided beneath the flesh of his eldest being made to know that Sam was not vulnerable to its influence. The only way to make that clear was to force Sam to participate in the exorcisms.

Whatever the demon wanted Sam for, John wasn’t going to let it have him. If it took making Sam resent him to keep his son safe, then that was a repercussion he was prepared to endure.

Some day, John would be gone, and if he didn’t have a chance to take Dean with him, Sam would be left with the responsibility. He had to be sure that Sam was ready.

But some nights, nights like these, when he had to standby and watch Dean revel in the attention of demons, when the monster in him writhed just below the surface, it was too much. He’d spent a couple of hours at the bar until everything had numbed and he’d finally felt prepared to face this thing.

His frustration rose though the blanket of alcohol-induced numbness when the motel room’s key refused to slip into the keyhole. It took a couple of tries before he realized he was trying to jam the Impala’s key into the lock. He growled to himself before fumbling with the key ring and coming up with the right one.

When he shoved open the door, the room was dark and the boys were both in bed. They had always shared a bed out of necessity, though it had never been John’s original intent.

There was an inherent risk in allowing Dean so close to his brother while Sam was vulnerable with sleep. It made the nightly efforts to fight back the demon all the more critical.

Dean had slept on the floor until Sam was old enough to protest. It wasn’t the punishment that Sam had viewed it as. Rarely could they get a room with a rollout in addition to two beds and he’d always made sure that Dean had blankets and a pillow. It was a far comfier sleeping arrangement than John had during the war and he would’ve taken it himself if his back hadn’t been beyond the years of doing without a mattress.

Tonight, he clenched his jaw, not at the proximity of his sons, but at the position they slept in. They faced each other, Dean’s head nestled into the crook of Sam’s neck and Sam’s arms wrapped protectively around Dean.

Sam was supposed to let Dean protect him and keep Dean in line. He wasn’t supposed to coddle him. The demon would exploit any weakness.

He gave a dissatisfied grunt as he shut the door and shrugged off his jacket, aiming to hang it, but having it instead slip from the hanger. It was forgotten before it hit the floor. His frustration was rising too quickly, and his vision too narrowed for him to think of anything but his boys.

No matter how many times he talked with Sam, no matter how much proof he gave him, his youngest still trusted Dean when they knew full well that Dean was the greatest threat to them. He knew it was hard for Sam to understand that the thing that protected him could also be the thing to kill him, but Dean’s adeptness at the hunt was exactly why he was so dangerous.

Dean was a barely controlled weapon wearing the face of Sam’s brother. That was why John had brought Sam tonight, not because he had been needed for the hunt, but so he could see what Dean really was. If tonight’s display hadn’t gotten through to Sam, John didn’t know what would.

He walked around the bed and roughly shook Dean’s shoulder. Dean jolted awake, eyes darting, confused. When those sleepy green eyes locked with his, John’s gut clenched.

For a moment, he saw his son in those eyes.

Really, he couldn’t blame Sam. John was guilty of the same failing. He was the one who couldn’t bring himself to put a bullet through the softly freckled face even though he knew the thing within Dean would have no such qualms about doing just that to John.

Part of him still held out hope that someday he’d find a cure. He was going to save his son or die trying. Until then, his only choice was to fight for control and hope the cure didn’t kill Dean first.

It was a hard line to walk. He had to apply enough pain to force back the demon while knowing that his son likewise had to endure every moment of it. He couldn’t apply more than Dean was capable of taking.

Thank God his son was so strong.

Dean was scrambling out of bed by the time John turned on the lamp. His eyes squinted against the flood of brightness. “Dad?”

Sam groggily blinked his eyes. “Dean, what’s going on?”

John barely caught Sam’s words, too angered by what he saw. “Why the hell is he wearing these?” John asked as he snapped the elastic of the briefs, drawing a hiss from the demon.

He jerked them down and put a firm hand on Dean’s back to bend him forward over the bed. As Dean lay over the rumpled covers, John’s hand roamed over Sam’s work. It was typical for Sam to go too easy on Dean.

When it was just about keeping Dean in line, John let it pass, but when it came to the demon, there was no excuses, no margin for error.

John’s eye caught a flash of red smeared in Dean’s crease and he had half a mind to tan Sam’s rear. He didn’t believe it was possible for his youngest to be so stupidly careless.

His attention turned on Sam, who had climbed out of bed and was finishing throwing on his clothes. “He’s not even cleaned up. Sam, how many times have I told you-”

“He was cleaned up,” Sam shot back.

“Then what the hell is this?” John asked as he showed Sam his bloodied hand.

“He’s still bleeding because you let them tear him up.”

It was just like Sam to be an obstinate prick these days, but worse, John knew that nothing Sam was about to say could be trusted. He’d obviously been swayed by the demon.

“That’s what he told you?”

If Sam gave an answer, John didn’t hear it. He stepped away from Dean and walked into the bathroom under the guise of washing his hands. Really, he was just trying to cool his temper. He braced himself on the counter and stared up at the tired old man in the mirror, wondering who he was.

John stepped away from the sink, once again scrubbing a hand over his blurry eyes, and returned to his waiting sons. Dean lay where John had left him while Sam stood at the end of the bed, blocking John’s path back to Dean.

His hair was a rumpled mess and his arms crossed over his chest. Sam raised his chin defiantly as John stalked towards him.

“I’ve tried to be damn tolerant of Dean’s sexual preferences,” John said coolly. “The last thing I need to hear is some shit about me ‘letting’ it happen. He can’t be with a girl. This is your brother’s only outlet. You know that.”

“Can you even hear yourself?” Sam asked. He swung his arm back to point at Dean. “Can you even see your own son?”

“I’m looking at him.” His eyes were fixed on Sam. He would never get used to having to look up to meet his youngest son’s eyes. “I’m doing my damnedest to protect you. Now step aside and get me the strop.”

“No.”

John took a step closer so that their chests were only inches from touching. “I’m not asking again.”

“And I’m not doing it.” Sam again motioned to Dean. “I already took care of it. This isn’t about the demon. You’re just fucking with Dean because you’re pissed off at me. You wanna beat someone? Beat me.”

“Sammy, no! Just shut the hell up and get the strop.” The urgent words came from the bed behind Sam. He shot a glare over Sam’s shoulder to see Dean’s desperate eyes. “Don’t you touch him, Dad.”

“That’s enough, Dean. I’m getting to you in a minute.” John let his tone carry the warning of consequences to come before he turned back on Sam. “Five demons. Do you have any idea how strong an influence like that is? Your brother’s a Winchester. He’s a fighter, but you know what’s at stake here. We do this, we keep him in control, or we slit his throat.”

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Dean’s shudder. It was hard to say if it was the demon responding to the sincerity of his threat or if it was Dean’s pain. John would give anything to be able to pull his boy into his arms.

That was what Sam didn’t get. They couldn’t give the demon that kind of comfort, which meant they couldn’t allow Dean any, until the control had been fully administered.

Sam’s bluster began to fade and he took a wary step back. “You’re crazy.”

“I wish like hell that I was.” John’s voice nearly cracked and he shook his head. He also stepped back to put them at a more comfortable distance from each other. “Do you really want to see it?”

Sam’s arms again crossed, but this time it wasn’t a show of defiance. He was only hugging himself as his eyes narrowed.

“Because I have,” John continued. “What you saw tonight, that was your brother in control of the demon. If you think what you gave him was enough, I can strap him down to the bed and you can meet the thing that killed your mother."


	4. Chapter 4

The motel room was quiet enough to hear the bouncing screech of bedsprings two rooms over. Initially there was no shift in Sam’s body language to indicate that he’d even heard John’s words, and Dean remained frozen, bent over the bed, not even breathing.

Then John saw it hit his youngest like a freight train. Sam spun so that his back was no longer to Dean, his eyes shifting rapidly between John and his brother. He narrowed his glare on John when Dean refused to meet his eyes.

“Dean didn’t kill Mom,” Sam said.

There was a question in his voice. The hint of naïve hopefulness sliced clean through John’s gut. He would give anything for a world where his boys could trust each other, where they could have a mother and a home. He’d prayed to an absent god until he was blue in the face for his boys to have that life.

It didn’t matter how much he wanted it. This wasn’t that world. This world was gruesome and riddled with monsters. As hard as he tried to protect them, even his sons weren’t immune to that.

“No,” John agreed. “Your brother didn’t. The demon inside him did.”

He’d never talked to Sam about Mary’s death, not really. Sam had only ever known that his mother had been killed by demons. John had destroyed all but one of the demons responsible, but that was more than he’d ever told Sam.

John had been unable to talk about it and had left it to Dean to explain. He didn’t know exactly what Dean had said. There was no doubt that part of it had been a lie, or at least had been omitted. Revealing that it had killed his mother wouldn’t have endeared the demon to Sam.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to protect you from, Sam,” John said. “That’s what you’ve been protecting.”

Sam returned to his defiant stance, again placing himself between John and Dean. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth.”

The quiet words came from Dean. He still lay over the bed with his head turned away to avoid the intensity of the Sam’s gaze.

John’s own eyes moved back to Sam, watching the torrent of emotions war over his face before he settled on disbelief. His son would have had the same defiant reaction if John was trying to prove that the sky was blue.

“This is insane,” Sam said. “Dean, get up.”

Dean knew better than that and remained where John had left him. The hostility in Sam was near to boiling over. John wasn’t proud that Sam had inherited his temper, though he knew the majority of it wasn’t so much Sam as the demon’s ability to influence emotions.

“Get off the bed and look at me!”

Sam slapped a hand hard over Dean’s upturned rear. Dean jumped in surprise before just settling back down with his fists clutching the comforter. With a frustrated huff, Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and tried to yank him up.

Dean jerked away. He twisted from Sam’s grip before shooting John a questioning look.

John gave a confirming nod. “Stay down.”

It was his youngest who reacted to the words. Sam turned on John with all the intensity of a striking viper. “Then you get out!”

John loomed towards Sam, not hesitating to match his son shout for shout. “Do you really think I’m going to leave you alone with it now that it’s just been exposed?”

Sam was beginning to look anxious, moving from disbelief to indecisiveness. It was the most receptive John had seen his son all evening, maybe all month.

“Okay.” After rubbing his hand over his cheeks, Sam nodded. “Then show me.”

It wasn’t ideal, but Sam was his son, and he was a smart boy. Sam would never be suited for hunts because he was incapable of following orders. He needed to work it through for himself and see the proof. In most cases, John didn’t have the time to provide it without putting lives at risk. Here, there was a greater risk in not taking the time.

Sam reluctantly stepped aside and moved to stand at the end of the bed so that John could approach Dean. “Get up,” John told Dean with a sharp slap. “On the bed, face up, spread-eagle.”

Unlike Sam, Dean always followed orders without question. When Dean didn’t so much as shift his weight, John knew exactly what he was dealing with. Dean’s eyes were wild, his expression desperate and his posture that of a cornered tiger. But really, it wasn’t Dean at all.

This was Mary’s killer, aware that it was about to lose its grip on Sam.

John forced himself alert through the numbing cloud of too much whiskey. He shouldn’t have pushed this tonight when he was all but out of commission. Shouldn’t have, but it was too late now.

The weapons bag was on the other side of the room and John couldn’t risk moving himself from between Sam and the demon. “Sam, get the Colt.”

“What...why?”

“Damn it, Sam! Just do it.”

Apparently, there was enough urgency in John’s tone to move even Sam into action. Sam strode quickly to the bag, lifted the Colt into his hands and returned to the end of the bed.

John held out an impatient hand for the weapon. When he didn’t feel the cold steel brush his skin, he took his eyes from the demon to shoot a look to Sam. His son shook his head before making a show of cocking back the trigger and leveling the gun at Dean.

“I’ll take the shot if I have to,” Sam said.

Whether or not John believed him was a moot point. Sam wouldn’t give up the gun without a serious argument that John had neither the time nor the patience for.

Dean wasn’t complying with John’s order either, but he had moved his legs beneath him. He stood hunched over with his hands still on the bed and his glistening eyes locked on Sam.

“Sammy?”

Sam grimaced, blinking and obviously seeing his brother, not the demon. “It’s okay, Dean.”

“Bed, now,” John barked.

“Dad, please, no.” Dean’s hands left the bed and he crouched down on the floor as John stepped closer. “You can’t. You know what it does.... You promised.”

Dean’s eyes flew up to meet John’s with a desperation nearly equal to that John had seen the first night the demon had entered Dean. The look was nearly genuine enough for John to believe it.

“You promised you wouldn’t let it take me.”

Demon or no, even John couldn’t dismiss the naked need in Dean’s tone. He leaned down to set a hand on Dean’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

It was the most reassurance he could afford to provide, since it was just as likely that it was the demon begging not to be revealed. Dean would know how important it was for Sam to see the truth with his own eyes.

It was his son that John appealed to. “Your brother needs to understand.”

The handcuffs clanked as John pulled them from his jacket pocket. It wasn’t uncommon that he needed to restrain a demon to gather information. Dean was also all too familiar with wearing them, but when they came out, the demon panicked.

Dean turned his pleading eyes to Sam. “I’d do anything for you, you know I would. But please, Sammy, you can’t ask me to do this.”

Even as John sent Sam a warning glare, his son was lowering the Colt. “Dad, wait.”

“It’s not your brother talking.”

“Yeah, it is.”

John grabbed Sam’s arm when he tried to push past him. His son pulled away, shoving John back. In a blur of movement, John’s hand flew out to fist the front of Sam’s shirt. Instead of backing down, Sam leaned in to meet John’s glare then pressed the Colt into his father’s hand.

“Just let me talk to my brother.”

Against his better judgment, John stepped aside, lifting the Colt to point it at Dean. It was a risk that Sam would take regardless. At least this way, John was here to back him up.

Sam tilted his head as he stared down at Dean, who remained crouched against the bed stand with his eyes fixed on his own bare feet. While Sam stood over him, Dean flicked at a clod of dirt that must have fallen from the grooves of John’s boots.

“You said you’d told me everything,” Sam said.

“I tried,” Dean whispered. “I tried so many damn times, but...I’m sorry.”

Sam raked a hand through his hair and turned his back, taking a couple steps away. “I trusted you, Dean.”

“I warned you not to.”

The room lapsed into a long silence before Sam turned back to his brother. “I wanna know why.”

Dean shrugged a little and curled further into himself. “I couldn’t lose you too.”

“No, I mean, why…why would you kill Mom?”

“I know what you meant.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Dean?”

While Sam was practically shouting, Dean’s words were only barely audible. “Doesn’t matter. All I do is hurt people. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

John clutched the Colt tighter in his grip as Dean unfolded himself and rose to his full height. He took a step towards Sam.

“I’ll kill you too if I get a chance,” Dean told his brother. “So go. Get the hell out of here!”

Dean shoved Sam away. Shock settled over Sam’s face as he stumbled backwards.

John pushed forward and grabbed Dean’s arm. He kicked Dean’s legs out from beneath him and threw Dean face down onto the bed. The moment Dean hit the mattress John thrust the barrel of the Colt against the back of his head.

He risked a look over his shoulder at his stunned youngest. “Either I show you this thing now or you get me the damn strop.”

With anxious eyes, Dean also looked to Sam and John ground the gun harder against the base of his skull. “Eyes down.”

Sam looked numb as he dug through John’s bag. He was visibly shaking by the time he stood beside John.

“I-I can’t….”

John gave an understanding nod as he took the heavy leather strop from Sam’s hands. He wished like hell that he’d never seen the demon either. There was no time to tell Sam as much before the motel room door slammed closed.

Once Sam was gone, Dean released a broken sigh that shook John from his paralysis. He rubbed his fingers roughly over his eyes. The blurriness in his vision remained, along with the fog that had settled over his mind. Only the weight of the strop in his hand reminded him what he was doing.

“Get up and I put a bullet in your skull.”

Dean stifled a sound, but didn’t move.

John used the time that it took to walk to the door and back to gather himself. With the door bolted and the security chain pulled, he hit a few random buttons before the television blared on.

Any reluctance John had about proceeding was eased by the knowledge that it wasn’t his son whose eyes lingered on the door Sam had just walked out of. The thing on the bed was no doubt thinking thoughts about Sam that would make John’s blood run cold.

Worst than that, in the moment that Dean had shoved Sam, he could have just as easily killed him. It was becoming harder to justify the risk of keeping Dean alive. John hesitated before disarming the Colt and slamming it down on the bed stand.

His fist curled. He wanted to strike the demon with all the force he could muster.

This would be so much easier if he could find the strength to smash that false innocence past the point of recognition so he would no longer be forced to endure Mary’s accusing eyes staring back at him.

The thing that had destroyed his family wore so much of Mary’s face. It mocked her fair skin, the gentle angle of her nose, the fullness of her lips and the soft sweep of her eyelashes. The flesh was his son’s but simultaneously embodied evil.

It knew all too well his weaknesses.

By the time John had a proper hold of the strop’s handle, Dean had risen on the mattress. He steadied himself on his knees with his chest laid flat on the bed and his face stuffed into a pillow. The sharp slope of his back pulled tight all the muscles of his raised rear and brought the light coating of blood smeared between his inner thighs harshly into focus.

As John walked around the bed, he gave an absent swing of the vintage barber’s strop, swooshing it through open air. The slight tremble of Dean’s shoulders stopped, if only because the muscles had gone too rigid to allow the slight movement.

The handle of the strop left John’s hands blistered some nights, but the heft of the thick, worn strap of leather was nothing if not effective.

It had been recovered from an impromptu hunt. John had done his boys’ hair until Dean had grown old enough to take over, though like so much else, Dean had never been particularly good at it. While John would have preferred a simple buzz cut, Dean had always insisted on letting Sam keep his hair ridiculously long.

On this one occasion, he had needed Dean to look presentable and had spent the money for his hair to be done professionally. The barber had been an antiques collector.

He had been convincing enough with his human façade that John hadn’t known it was a demon until Dean had tripped, knocked over a shelf and shattered the glass balls of an apparently expensive collection of snow globes.

That demon had held a particular fascination for Dean, even more than most. It had agreed not to charge John for the damaged collectibles so long as it was allowed to give Dean a proper bare-ass strapping. The demon’s form had been weak, but the implement itself had caught John’s attention.

In the end, Dean had finished the demon off with the strop’s accompanying straight razor while John raided the shop for anything of worth. The place had been full of trinkets, but there had been little that John had known the value of aside from the money in the till and the strop.

Dean had been eleven. Even then, the demon had ridden precariously close to the surface. It had only become more exposed with time.

“I know what you want,” John spat down at it. “You can’t have my son.”

He gave no warning before bringing down the stiff leather with a sound crack.

Each blow easily covered the width of Dean’s backside and it only took a few applications of the wide leather strap to darken the skin from his upper ass to lower thighs. The bed rocked with each hit.

After a scream into his pillow, Dean tried to push up. His son knew to stay on the bed, though, and fought the demon’s attempt to flee. When it looked as if Dean might be losing, John slammed the leather full force against Dean’s thighs.

The momentum of the blow skidded Dean forward on the bed. His head thumped against the wood of the headboard and his legs were knocked out from beneath him.

A grimace twisted John’s features as Dean’s eyes screwed shut and he curled onto his side.

John gave Dean a few seconds to readjust his position. Dean squirmed back onto his stomach before lying still with his arms clutching the pillow. From the other side of the bed, John beat down the leather to cover the patches of skin he had missed from the left side.

His breath was labored when John set aside the strop in favor of the thinner leather of Dean’s belt.

He worked the lashes from Dean’s shoulders down to his calves. It took everything he had not to hear the muffled cries that Dean was all but screaming into his pillow by the time the individual trails of lashes bled to a solid shade of red.

“On your knees.”

It was nearly as hard for Dean to comply as it had been for John to speak the words.

John had to help steady him as Dean struggled to get his knees beneath him. Strangled moans died in Dean’s throat as he swayed unsteadily, eyes only half open and mouth gasping for air.

It was easy to slip the folded bandana into Dean’s open mouth. John tightly tied it around the back of Dean’s head, his fingers brushing against the sheen of sweat dewing at the back of Dean’s neck. He gave a sharp tug to secure the knot of the gag.

He hated using it on his son, but it was too much to ask Dean not to scream.

“On your back, arms out.”

His own cheeks were nearly as wet as Dean’s as he stared into those deceptively pained and frightened eyes. He knew what was hidden behind that mask.

He leaned forward as he spoke and let the venom hang thickly in his voice.

“I should have ended this a long damn time ago.”

~~~

 _October 31, 1994 – Chadron, Nebraska_

Dean lay face down stretched naked over the top of the worn comforter. His breathing was thready and sweat glistened over his skin despite the room being cool enough to raise goose bumps over his lightly shivering flesh. Below the heated blister of his striped skin, his beaten muscles screamed in agony.

For once, he was glad Sammy wasn’t here.

His brother was too young to understand why Dean needed this. It always upset him, and being the cause of Sam’s anxiety hurt far more than any whipping could. Dean would have to shimmy under the covers before Sam returned, but right now just the weight of the air felt too heavy on the backs of his thighs.

Dean’s head was down and he couldn’t see Dad, but he’d heard the creak of Dad’s weight settling into the corner chair. He let himself breathe a sigh of relief knowing that Dad hadn’t left him.

When Dean strained to look over his shoulder he was surprised to see Dad wasn’t researching. His chair was turned towards the bed and he was watching Dean. Dad didn’t seem to notice Dean’s eyes on him. There was a strange distance there.

It was too much for Dean to try to sort out with his consciousness on the border of wavering. He wanted nothing more than to reach for that blackness, but Dad needed him to remain awake so Dean fought through the fog, shifting on the bed and stifling a sob.

He swallowed to try to wet his painfully dry mouth. The heavy taste of salt still burned his tongue. Dean buried his face into the pillow, half intent on suffocating himself just to stop the pain, but even without looking, he could feel the eyes on him and he forced himself still.

Dean tried to remain strong for Dad.

He flinched when he heard Dad set another empty bottle down too heavily on the table. The footsteps moved towards him, but he didn’t look, didn’t break the position he’d been told to retain. He wasn’t sure why Dad was letting him lie down, but he was afraid that moving would make him change his mind.

More than anything, he didn’t want to see the birch rods in Dad’s hands. Sam had grudgingly collected and soaked them this afternoon without actually knowing what they were for.

His brother had been too busy telling Dean about the Halloween party tonight to think about what he was doing. Dean had helped fix up Sam’s costume and Sam had promised he’d bring Dean back some M&Ms for dinner tonight.

Dean was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be able to eat by the time Sam got back. He already felt sick.

His hands clutched at the sheets. Dean wanted to tell Dad that he couldn’t take anymore. He trusted Dad to know how much he needed, but he was scared.

He didn’t know where the rods were. They could be in the trash or they could still be in Dad’s hands.

His back knotted in pained anticipation and he jumped all the more when it was a gentle hand set on his shoulder. Dean held his breath until he began to see stars, then gulped in air before trying to speak.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

Dad rubbed his hand over the nape of Dean’s neck. It was a strangely comforting gesture for Dad. Dean wasn’t used to his father’s hands not being used to hurt, not during an exorcism, but the hand rubbed reassuringly at the corded muscles of Dean’s back where the skin hadn’t been struck raw.

Finally Dean looked up to Dad. His brow furrowed, not understanding the look in his father’s eyes. Dean blinked the moisture away from his own eyes and realized that Dad’s hands were empty. The relief that it might be over melted a little of the tension from his shoulders.

“It’s not your fault, Dean. You can’t help what you are.”

A fresh flood of tears came to Dean’s burning eyes. He didn’t know if they flowed because Dad had just absolved him or because Dad had just confirmed his damnation. Dean squeezed his eyes closed.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Dad continued.

Dean choked on his father’s words. His eyes flew open.

Tears streaked his face. His entire backside was a mass of welts. He could feel himself trembling. It hurt so bad that he kept swallowing down acid, but suddenly none of that mattered.

Confusion knotted Dean’s features. Dad’s hands were still on him, but had changed from massaging to wandering, edging against a few of the stinging cuts that had already been rubbed with salt, but not to rub more salt in.

Dean lay stiffly, knowing the touch from other men, but Dad didn’t reach between his legs. He just followed the larger curves of his body, exploring as if he didn’t see Dean naked every night.

“Dad...you okay?” Dean asked hoarsely.

Dad’s eyes looked foggy. Dean wondered how many bottles Dad had really been through. The closer Dad got, the more the air reeked of alcohol that Dean wanted to drown himself in.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Dean choked on another sob. He couldn’t actually be awake. He sniffled, rubbing the snot from his nose against his pillow before looking back to Dad.

“I-I am?”

He’d heard it before from other men. He’d heard it since he’d dropped out of the sixth grade.  
 _  
Such a pretty boy._

 _Such a gorgeous little cock slut._

He knew what accompanied those words. They came with rough hands tugging and probing, the cold air on bare skin and the salty, sick taste in his mouth. He knew his body reacting in ways he didn’t understand and knew that when it was over, when there was nothing left but demon blood splattered across his skin that he’d done well.

Dad was proud of him and nothing else mattered. But Dad had never told him he was beautiful, had never looked at him with such reverent eyes.

A hand came up to brush his soaked cheek while Dad mumbled things Dean couldn’t entirely hear. He was too focused on trying to make out the words to realize what Dad was about to do.

He barely bit back a cry when Dad flipped him over so that Dean was thrown onto his welted back. For a moment, Dean’s vision went dark. His breaths came in rapid whimpers.

Dad obliviously continued his wandering strokes, looking into, yet past, Dean’s eyes. He wiped away the tears again, whispering an apology that Dean somehow knew wasn’t for him.

Dean gasped when Dad straddled him, forcing a heavy weight onto his beaten hips. Dad settled down all but on top of him, covering him completely, rough fabric feeling like razors against his skin. Dean bit his lip hard, tasted copper and again felt the pull of unconsciousness.

He didn’t have a chance to beg him to stop before Dad’s mouth locked onto his.

Dad worked over Dean’s lips in a way that was gentle and sweet. There was love in the kiss that Dean had never before known. No one had ever kissed him before, not like this, not in a way that wasn’t just choking on a violating tongue and nearly blacking out from loss of air.

When Dad’s hand did blindly make it past Dean’s dark curls, it jerked away as if burned. There was confusion in Dad’s eyes that shifted to anger.

Dean winced, shivering as he saw the more familiar hate.

Dad balled his fist. The crushing punch came down like a falling anvil on the mattress only inches from Dean’s face.

Dean was shaking when Dad again flipped him so that he was back on his stomach. His gawky limbs sprawled messily. He was too stunned to arrange them or even know where they were. Dean was in the middle of a growth spurt and it was making him sloppy.

There was a rustling sound and then a zipper being pulled. A moment later, Dad was on him, the weight heavy enough that he had to fight to draw air into his lungs.

A rough hand, slick and cold, pressed against him. Dean buried his head deeper into the pillow. The fingers shoved inside him even as Dean’s body fought to keep them out.

It felt like Dad was tearing him open and he didn’t know why. He could only tell that Dad needed this and tried to focus past the burn to cling to Dad’s words of how beautiful he was.

It wasn’t the first time that Dean had been touched there, but it was the first time he’d been fucked. He’d never hurt so bad before, not that it mattered. Dean had no intention of giving Dad anything less than everything he wanted.

He thought it couldn’t hurt anymore than it did with his father pumping in and out of him, hands holding him down. But it could, and it did, when all of Dad’s mumblings of how pretty he was, all those gentle caresses, all the soft kisses on his neck ended with Dad coming inside of Dean with Mom’s name on his lips.

~~~

 _May 20, 2001 - Seattle, Washington_

The cry ripped from Dean’s throat was muffled by the dirty fabric bound tight over his tongue. Dean struggled to breathe around the obstacle with ragged gasps. It only parched his mouth further and drove him to the edge of panic.

He tried to calm enough to draw in air through his nostrils. It was nearly impossible as the leather continued to crack down over his ribs, his own body weighing heavily on his abused back.

“You’re doing good, son.”

Dean heard the words through the haze of pain and a twinge of warmth kindled in the cold pit of his stomach. He knew why Dad did this, but in the midst of it, it was still hard not to think that Dad wanted him dead.

Dad wasn’t the only one. Dean knew it would be easier for everyone if they just salted and burned his corpse. He would’ve ganked himself years ago if he’d been sure Sammy would’ve been all right.

“Can you still feel it?” Dad asked.

It took Dad’s fingers a few tries to release the gag. Dean greedily gasped in a flood of air that left him lightheaded. When Dad’s words finally filtered through the pain, Dean nodded.

He could always feel it. The demon was always there just below the surface and sometimes he could barely breathe through the darkness. It was too crowded in his own head and his skin felt too tight.

Half the time Dean thought the demon fed off the pain, but he knew the exorcisms had to help. Dad had to be right and it always kept back the demon.

“A little, but it’s better.”

Better, but not enough.

“Dad….”

He tried to pull together the words to thank his father, for everything, and to ask him to do what they both knew should have been done eighteen years ago.

His body was beyond exhaustion, the nerves too raw to even feel the full impact of the beating. Dean was ready now. He’d seen the look in his brother’s eyes. There was no reason left to stay. Sammy didn’t need or want him anymore.

Before he could ask for a bullet, Dad’s hand ran over the beaten side of Dean’s hip and he shivered.

He must have blacked out because somehow he’d ended up under the sheets with Dad’s weight bearing down on skin he already couldn’t stand to exist in.

Dean bit down on the sheets to force himself quiet.

He knew Dad did this for him and if he wasn’t so fucked up, he’d be able to enjoy it like Dad said he should. Dean searched for the pleasure he was supposed to be feeling as deep, quick, desperate thrusts tore him open.

Only the friction against the bed had any hopes of arousing him and, even then, the pain was too thick and Dad’s movements too brutal to kindle anything beyond half hard. Dean fought to keep it that way, knowing he couldn’t take anymore if he messed up Dad’s sheets.

He didn’t fully acknowledge when Dad finished with him. The burn was so intense he was on the verge of passing out by the time Dad was pushing him up off the bed.

With disoriented steps, Dean stumbled towards his own bed and used it to steady himself, but stopped before pulling back the covers. This was Sammy’s bed. If his brother came back, he wouldn’t want to share it with Dean.

Dean took one of the pillows from the bed and straightened the blankets. He only made it two steps before he heard the cursing.

He followed Dad’s eyes and only caught a flash of smeared blood on the white sheets of his father’s bed before Dad’s hand clutched his bicep in a vice grip and Dean was pulled over his lap.

Dean hurried to steady himself with his hips balanced over the heat of his father’s bare thighs. The quick barrage of hard-handed strikes was nearly enough to push him over the edge into unconsciousness.

He barely noticed the pain.

This was the only thing he couldn’t endure. Aside from them both being naked, sweat slickening the grind of their crotches, it was like it had been right after he’d killed Mom.

The first time Dad had grabbed him without warning and jerked down his pajama bottoms, pinning him over his lap, Dean had thought Dad was going to kill him. Now he just wished that he would.

~~~

Sam hadn’t made it far before his knees had given out. He collapsed back against a building’s wall for support then gave up on standing altogether and let himself sink to the ground.

His ass ended up planted in a pothole of water. He barely noticed as the cold moisture soaked straight through to his underwear. The light rain fell down over him as he fought for air. Soon his bangs were plastered over his eyes, but he couldn’t find the strength to raise his hand to sweep them aside.

It wasn’t long after the return of oxygen that logic settled in to quell his hysteria. Things like the ability to do math slowly came back into focus.

Four years old.

Dean had been four years old when the demon had killed Mom.

Sam couldn’t wrap his mind around what kind of demon would possess a little kid. Even less, how it would have been strong enough in a child’s body to kill anyone.

All he really knew was that whatever had happened hadn’t been Dean’s fault.

The longer Sam sat just out of view of the avenue’s traffic, the more times he could remember when Dean had tried to tell him. Sam just hadn’t wanted to listen.

He needed to see the demon with his own two eyes, but not at the risk of Dean, and not against his brother’s will.

His stomach cramped painfully at the realization of what he’d done by handing Dad the strop. Not doing it wouldn’t have stopped the exorcism and it was obvious that Dean hadn’t wanted it stopped anyway, but Sam’s mind was frozen on the look in Dean’s eyes just before he’d turned his back and run out.

It had all just been too much. It had been a really long time since he’d even thought about Mom. In Sam’s memory, Dean had been the only one to ever take care of him.

There was nothing about Mom that he even remembered, nothing that wasn’t a story that had come second-hand from Dean. He only knew what she had looked like from the pictures that Dean kept in the tattered Batman comics hidden at the bottom of his travel bag where Dad wouldn't bother looking for them.

Maybe the demon had killed Mom, but Dean had loved her.

By the time Sam slipped back into the motel room, it was to the familiar sounds of his dad snoring and his brother burying hitched sobs into his pillow. Dean instantly fell silent, but Dad’s heavy breathing continued steadily. Dad could be a light sleeper and didn’t always snore, but he did when he drank, which was more often than not.

Sam shut the door quietly behind him and let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room before walking over to the bed. He had already been afraid of what he might find and his stomach plummeted when he found his bed empty with the blankets made.

He’d been sure that he’d heard his brother crying, though he began to wonder if he’d imagined it when he looked over to see only Dad in the other bed.

Suddenly, all he could think about was the sight of Dad pressing the gun to Dean’s head.

At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it. He’d been distracted and it wasn’t like it was the first time Dad had held a gun to Dean. It was just a precaution. Dad had never pulled the trigger, but he wasn’t usually so angry or quite this drunk.

Sam’s heart caught in his throat when he finally spotted the bundle in the corner of the room. It was too big to be their bags and when Sam saw it shift, he jogged over and dropped to his knees beside it.

His brother was still pretending to sleep beneath their spare blanket, but his breaths were all wrong for it and his body was far too stiff. Dean had always sucked at lying whether or not it was with words.

“Hey,” Sam whispered.

He brushed his hand over Dean’s rumpled hair, letting it trail down over Dean’s moist cheek. Dean leaned into the touch for a second before pulling away.

In the darkness, Sam was unable to see what had been done to his brother, but he was sure that it had been particularly bad tonight because of him.

“Sammy?”

Dean’s voice was so weak and uncertain that Sam’s breath hitched in his throat. He plopped down beside his brother and leaned back against the wall that propped Dean up. His eyes glanced across the room to the silhouette of their dad, still snoring in bed, before he turned his head back to Dean.

“Yeah, Dean, it’s me. It’s okay."

“You came back?”

Again Sam’s breath caught at how confused his brother sounded. He snuggled in closer to Dean.

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“It’s better when you’re not here.”

Sam stiffened at Dean’s words. Hurt raced through him until Dean nestled into him despite how much he had to be hurting. He was pretty sure he knew what Dean meant, but didn’t want to hear his brother say it aloud.

He carefully wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulder and let his brother’s head fall against him.

“What’re you doing down here?” Sam asked.

Sam felt Dean shrug against him before mumbling into his shoulder. “Sleeping.”

“We got bed bugs or something?”

Even as the tears were sliding down Sam’s cheeks, he cracked a broken smile when he finally got Dean to at least look at him. The room was too dim to really make out anything of Dean’s face.

“You shouldn’t have come back.”

When Sam shivered, Dean’s actions negated his words. Dean groaned as he shrugged off his blanket and leaned over to use it to towel off Sam’s dripping hair.

“You didn’t really think I was going to start listening to you now, did you?”

“It’s not safe.” Dean didn’t lean back again until he’d managed to wrap the blanket back around the both of them. “I’m not safe.”

“Dad knocked the demon back, right?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Whatever, Dean. Let’s just get your butt into bed.”

Dean only pulled the blanket tighter. “I’m fine.”

“Dude, you’re not sleeping down here and don’t tell me you wanna because that’s a load of crap.”

Sam shot his brother a challenging look and Dean shifted his eyes to the floor. “I don’t think I can get up.”

“Fuck.” His chest tightened at Dean’s admission and he again found his eyes drifting towards Dad. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Dean’s hand clutched his arm. “Sammy...just forget about it, okay? Go get some rest. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Not if you sleep down here.” Sam slipped from beneath the blanket and moved to crouch beside Dean. “I can carry you.”

“Over my dead body.” Dean sighed and let his head fall back against the wall. Sam began to wrap his arm around Dean and his brother made a halfhearted attempt at swatting him away. “You are such a bitch.”

“At least I’m not as big of a jerk as you are. Come on, let’s go.” Sam had barely gotten Dean sitting upright when his brother shuddered with a ragged gasp. Sam hesitated before moving him further. “Is anything broken?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Dean didn’t actually sound like he cared either way, which once again prompted Sam to want to pummel the shit out of Dad. He was pretty sure he could take Dad while he was sleeping and it wouldn’t be any less of a fair fight than what Dad did to Dean.

He wanted to sweep his brother into his arms and carry him out to the Impala and never look back. Instead, he gathered all his patience to help Dean stubbornly struggle to his feet.

Dean leaned heavily on Sam as they limped over to the bed. Sam pulled back the sheets then lowered his brother carefully onto the mattress before tucking him in.

After one more bitter glance at Dad, Sam peeled off his soaking wet clothes and haphazardly laid them out before climbing into the bed. Dean whimpered at the shifting of the mattress.

Sam’s hand reached below the blanket and brushed lightly over the skin of Dean’s upper thigh. It was too hot to the touch and so tender that Dean flinched at the ghost of contact.

One of Sam’s hands clenched into a fist while the other worked gently over the back of his brother’s neck. It was one of the only spots that he was sure Dad hadn’t beaten.

As his eyes fully adjusted to the darkness, Sam lost his gaze in exploring what he could make out of Dean’s face. Even as his brother’s eyes fell closed, the tension in Dean’s pinched features remained. Dean wasn’t asleep, just avoiding conversation. He looked too fragile for Sam to want to push.

It wasn’t hard to believe that there was something evil inside of Dean.

He’d seen his brother literally tear people apart with his bare hands. When Sam had been in school, he hadn’t brought his friends around, not only because they made Dean uncomfortable, but because on a lot of levels, Dean scared him.

There was a Dean who would kill anyone at just one word from Dad. Then there was the Dean who lay curled against him and who Sam unquestionably trusted with his life. That they were just two different people had always seemed so straightforward.

Tonight, though, what Dad had seen so clearly as the demon ready to break loose, Sam hadn’t been able to see as anything but his brother, cornered and frightened.

They couldn’t both be right.


	5. Chapter 5

Enough light leaked through the tattered curtains for Sam to see the long bruises forming over Dean’s arm that had slipped from beneath the covers to wrap around him. Sometimes Sam wondered if Dad had pulled Dean out of school just so he wouldn’t have to be careful about where he marked him.

Sam grimaced and looked past Dean to the other bed. The covers were thrown back and it was empty. He let out a breath and relaxed back down into his pillow. At least he wouldn’t have to start out the morning dealing with Dad.

He turned his full focus on Dean. His brother slept facing Sam, half-curled into himself. Shifting as little as possible on the bed, Sam peeled down the covers to reveal the discolored skin of Dean’s abdomen.

Dean startled awake, jerking the covers back over himself and gripping them tightly to his chest before his eyes had even focused. He blinked up at Sam then fell back onto his pillow. He winced and shifted onto his side, but Sam knew all too well that it was no less bruised than anything else.

Dad had instructed Sam on that technique.

Giving Dean a spanking made it hurt to sit or lie on his back, but whipping his front and sides meant there was no way he could lie that didn’t ache. Sam had let Dean talk him through it once. Dean had stood with his hands on his head so the belt could whip around his side.

He had done it only because Dad had been standing behind him with the strop. He’d never been able to do it again or forgive himself for the one time he had. Sam rubbed an unmarred spot on Dean’s shoulder as if it could somehow make up for everything.

Dean seemed satisfied to lie beside him this morning when he would usually be scrambling to make Dad’s bed and get started on training. Sam could tell by the way Dean was refusing to look at him that it wasn’t pain keeping him in bed. Dean didn’t want him to see the damage.

Sam threw back his sheets and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his jeans. He disappeared into the bathroom just long enough to fill the cup on the counter with water. On his way back to the main room, he stopped at the closet to dig a plastic bag of pain meds from his jacket pocket. He’d had to throw out the bottle because the caplets had made too much noise rattling around in it.

When Sam returned to the bed, Dean gingerly rolled over. His eyes were weary as he looked up at Sam standing at his bedside with the cup held out to him. Dean was always thirsty, so Sam knew he wouldn’t refuse the water.

Dean faltered in trying to push himself up. Sam set aside the cup long enough to help his brother sit. Before Dean could lean back against the headboard, Sam reached across him to grab the other pillow and slipped it behind his back.

While Dean did take the water, he shook his head when Sam tried to slip him the pills. They both knew he wasn’t supposed to take pain medication, but it wasn’t like Dad would find out. Dad counted the pills in the first aid kit, but Sam had stolen these himself.

“They’re mine, Dean.”

Predictably, Dean stubbornly shook his head. Sam could almost never get his brother to take the pills except when Dean had a hunting injury on top of Dad’s beating. Then Sam could convince Dean that the pills were just for the injury. Technically Dean did have a hunting injury. Sam had seen the blood last night.

“I’m okay,” Dean lied.

His eyes were bloodshot, with sunken bags beneath them. Sam knew damn well that Dean hadn’t slept any more last night than Sam had. Dean was anything but okay.

Sam stashed the pills in his pocket and turned away before he ended up taking his frustration out on Dean. He roughly tugged up the sheets of Dad’s bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean starting to get up.

“Hey, that’s my job,” Dean protested.

“I think I can figure out how to fold sheets.”

“Obviously not. Dude, you’re already doing it wrong.”

Dean sounded agitated enough that he must actually think Dad would be able to tell the difference in who made the bed. He moved too quickly to sit up and gave a yelp before collapsing back down onto the pillows and squeezing his eyes closed.

Sam’s hands froze where they were pressing smooth the sheets. He couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice as he watched Dean’s labored breathing. “Do I need to take you to a hospital?”

“Are you nuts?” Dean opened his eyes and made a show of steadying his breaths. “I’m not gonna risk some doctor’s life just ‘cause I’m a little sore.”

There was no way that Sam could come up with a calm reply. He gritted his teeth until he saw the browning smear of dried blood on the sheets he was laying out. Sam stood frozen, just staring at the stains that didn’t make any sense.

Dad couldn’t have been hurt last night. Dean wouldn’t have made it back to the car without a whipping if he had been. Sam narrowed his eyes on Dean, who ducked his head.

“I already got spanked for it.”

Sam couldn’t be further from giving a crap, aside from the fact that it made him angrier. His eyes darted between the position of the blood stain on the sheets, half way down the bed, and the shamed flush that was steadily rising over Dean’s cheeks.

“What were you doing in Dad’s bed?” Sam asked.

“Getting my whipping.”

“He whips you on top of the blankets.”

Dean didn’t answer, only ducked his head a little further and pulled the blankets tighter around himself. Sam raised his brow as he stared at his brother expectantly.

“Dean?”

“What do you want me to say?”

It was a legitimate question, not some smart-ass comment. Dean wanted to know what the right answer was because the wrong one could hurt.

Sam lowered his own head and dropped down onto Dad’s bed so he wasn’t towering over his already uneasy brother. He rested his elbows on his knees to keep his hands in plain sight. Dean turned his head away, swallowing uneasily.

It hit Sam in a rush of clarity that left him both nauseated and kicking himself. He should have seen it clear as day in every off touch, in the easy way that Dean played into the acts Dad put on for the demons, and how the obscene comments about Dean thoughtlessly slid from Dad’s tongue.

“How long has Dad been fucking you?” The question spilled from Sam’s lips before he could even think to censor himself.

Dean gave a careless shrug then cringed at the pain the small motion brought. “Longer than you.”

There was no malice in the quiet words. If anything, Dean sounded bored with the question. Sam’s grip on the sheets tightened until he wadded the fabric in his hands then slammed his fist down onto the mattress.

Dean curled into his pillow like he could disappear into it. Sam could only just barely force his fist to uncurl. It wasn’t only rage at what Dad was doing to Dean or for making Dean think it was okay. There was a twinge of jealousy in his gut that had no business being there.

Dad had always focused on Dean. He said it was about protecting Sam, but the words were just words. It had always been about Dean.

Either Dad had needed Dean for a hunt or Dean had needed to be punished. Dad had barely ever looked at Sam and the one thing Sam had thought was his own, that Dean was giving solely to him, he’d also been giving to Dad.

No, Dad had taken it. He’d taken it from him and Dean both.

Sam didn’t say another word, only glared once more at the accusing stain before shoving himself off the bed and throwing the covers over it. He clenched his jaw when Dean looked more concerned about the rumpled blankets than anything else.

Stalking back around to the other bed, Sam grabbed his bag and started shoving his things into it. He only looked up when Dean moaned. His brother was rising from the bed.

Sam squeezed his eyes closed when he realized that Dean thought he was digging through his bag for the hairbrush.

“No. God, no, Dean.” Sam’s voice cracked and he forced himself to stop long enough to reach across the bed and grasp Dean’s wrist. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why are you mad?”

Sam pinched his nose against his growing headache. “You really got no clue, do you?”

When Dean raised his arm to scratch at his head, it only further highlighted the damage Dad had done last night.

“Forget it,” Sam said as he grabbed Dean’s bag too. He opened it up to pull out a fresh change of clothes and tossed them to his brother. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Dean threw back his covers, gasping sharply as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. “What the hell, Sammy?”

It wasn’t Dean’s words but the sight of his exposed body that stopped Sam in his tracks. Dean sat hunched over on the bed. His skin looked porcelain-white in contrast to the brutal lines of forming bruises that had been methodically laid over his flesh.

His irregular breathing was probably due to bruised ribs. His thighs and ass would be the worst, but Dean kept that part of himself hidden by the underwear and the fact he refused to stand while Sam was watching him.

Dad had done this to Dean. It was far from the first time, but it changed everything. Dad had beaten Dean raw then fucked him when he knew he was already bleeding. That didn’t have a damn thing to do with the demon.

“Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

“I can’t.” The resignation screamed painfully clear in the defeated tone and the slump of Dean’s shoulders. “This is it for me, but there’s money in my bag. I’ve been keeping some back.”

“You’ve been hiding it from Dad?”

Dean watched Sam warily as if he thought he might punish him for it.

Sometimes his brother was totally clueless. As far as Sam was concerned, Dean should be able to keep all the money he earned prostituting. It was his body, not Dad’s.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “Just a little from each job. I wanted a reserve...in case you wanted to go.”

“You’ve been saving it for me?”

His brother nodded and stiffly leaned towards his bag. Sam stopped him before he could dig into it. The only way he was taking Dean’s money was if Dean was coming with it.

“I’m not leaving you, Dean. Not ever.” Sam’s chest tightened at the startled expression in Dean’s eyes. He didn’t want to think that Dean had never realized that before. “But I’m not gonna stay here and watch him kill you.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me!”

“I’ve tried, Sammy. About Mom, about me...you just won’t fucking listen.”

Sam returned to Dad’s bed so he was sitting across from his brother. He had a theory, but he knew Dean wasn’t going to like it.

“I don’t think this is about your demon,” Sam said.

Dean flexed his jaw. His posture screamed disagreement without him having to say a word.

“Dean, I think Dad’s possessed.”

It was the only possible explanation for why a father would rape his son. Dean had played bait for plenty of demons like that before, luring them in while pretending to be just a vulnerable kid.

Humans didn’t touch kids like that. They didn’t abuse their own families.

“No.” Dean vehemently shook his head. “No, I was careful.”

“I’m not saying it was you. With those five demons last night-“

“It wasn’t them either.” Dean’s eyes wandered as he seemed to be mulling it over. “No. There’s no way he’s been possessed this whole time.”

“‘This whole time’?” Sam echoed. “When did this start?”

Dean’s gaze became suddenly fascinated with the room’s tacky wallpaper.

“After Mom?” Sam asked. “Before?”

“What? No, you sick son of bitch!”

Dean hurled a pillow at Sam before clenching his fist. For a moment Sam thought he’d pushed hard enough to get an honest answer. Instead, Dean shut down. He folded his hands on his lap and dropped his head.

“Hey.” Sam slapped a hand against Dean’s knee. “How long?”

“It’s no big deal. He can’t be with anyone else either, you know. He’s liable to end up in bed with a succubus.”

Sam moved to stand over Dean. “You can’t seriously be defending him here.”

“It’s not like he ties me down.” Dean lifted his head to meet Sam’s eyes. “We do this for each other. Just like me and you. That’s what family’s for.”

~~~

 _June 15, 1998 - Greenville, Mississippi_

The muggy air was nearly too sweltering hot to breathe. It was late afternoon and the sun beat hard against the closed blinds. The apartment’s air conditioner was busted and it was too damn hot to think, let alone move.

Sam had given up on doing anything aside from lying in bed. It didn’t help that the window was open. It was pathetically small and the occasional breeze that blew past the dusty blinds was inferno hot. He thought he should maybe close the window, but that would mean having to move.

Nothing short of the room catching fire was going to get him up. Even then, he could get Dean to carry him out.

School had just ended for the year and Dad was tying up loose ends before they hit the road for the summer. Sam didn’t want to move. He liked this town, liked one of the girls at the school, and didn’t like that no one cared what he wanted.

So yeah, he was supposed to be packing, but screw that.

His bangs were slick and plastered against his forehead. He was down to a ragged sleeveless shirt and some baggy shorts that he’d borrowed from Dean. The shirt was hiked up his midsection.

The book he had been reading lay forgotten on the bed beside him. His focus had momentarily shifted from his summer reading list to the fact that he was fifteen and horny as hell.

Dad wasn’t here and one thing Sam loved about their noisy car was that the Impala’s rumble could be heard from far enough away that he always had time to stop whatever he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

Part of him wanted Dad to walk in on him doing everything wrong.

Sam had every intention of doing the exact opposite of everything Dad had ordered him to. He hoped that he’d have the guts to rub it in Dad’s face when he got back.

Out of spite, instead of getting his things packed, he lay sprawled over the bed with his shorts shoved down his hips just far enough to jack off. He got a little thrill in the pit of his stomach lying there with everything hanging out in broad daylight. Sure, no one could see in the window and he was alone in the room, but while his brother was always getting off on public streets, this was the closest to public Sam had ever been.

Sam didn’t actually know where Dean was right now. He’d left his brother naked in a chair staring at the corner of the kitchen. The thought was almost enough to deflate Sam, and pushed it aside. Dean had deserved the spanking for being such a jerk anyway.

His nerves had him peeking at the open doorway a few times before he let his eyes really close. He became fully engulfed in the movements of his hand. His back arched up and his head pressed back into the pillow.

Sam barely felt the shift of the mattress. He didn’t realize it wasn’t his own body shifting the bed until a hand grasped his wrist.

There was no time for his brain to carry a conscious thought before his eyes flew open and he flipped over to try to hide himself like he could seriously convince someone that he was in the middle of reading. His leg was blocked from swinging over. It took a long moment for the realization to filter through.

Dean, his brother, was kneeling between his legs.

Sweat trails gleamed brightly over Dean’s bare skin. His posture was tense, but not overly so. Sam’s brain only barely processed the fact that Dean had been bringing him a new drink with fresh ice. Dean had already set the Coke on the bed stand.

Sam rushed to stuff himself back into his shorts and tried to look casual while struggling not to notice how distinctly unbothered Dean was by the whole thing. He didn’t want to think about what possessed his naked brother to climb up on their bed while Sam was getting off because _possession_ was the obvious answer.

Dean always slept naked so it wasn’t weird to be in bed with him like this, but all they ever did was sleep. His brother didn’t look tired now.

He knew Dean had sex all the time. It wasn’t even all that strange for him to watch his brother having sex. He’d never thought anything of it, except that it looked liked it hurt, and Dean had never seemed bothered by Sam watching. But he’d never been the one Dean was on his knees for.

Now Dean was leaning over him, pulling his shorts back down and actually touching him. Sam shoved him away and tried to remember where he’d put his gun.

“What the hell, Dean?”

When Dean looked up, it wasn’t with a leer or a malicious smirk. There were no demonic taunts. There was only hurt confusion in his brother’s eyes.

“Dean?” Sam asked.

“Sorry I...sorry.” Dean tried to scramble off the bed, but Sam caught his arm.

Dean was only naked because of Sam, and Dean hadn’t really been a jerk. When Sam refused to pack, Dean had started doing it for him to avoid a confrontation with Dad. Basically Sam had paddled Dean for following Dad’s orders, which was going to get Dean at least the belt when Dad got back.

If Dean wanted to do whatever the hell he was doing, Sam wasn’t going to make him feel bad about it. Not when Sam wielding a hairbrush had put those marks on him.

“No...it’s okay, Dean. You just surprised me.”

The only thing more surprising than looking up to find his big brother at the end of his bed while he was masturbating was having his brother’s mouth come down on him. Nerves brimmed in Sam’s stomach as he stared, wide-eyed, watching Dean’s head bob between his spread legs.

It was the first time anything but Sam’s own hand had been down there.

On an instinctual level, he knew his brother’s lips should never be on him, but his body hadn’t gotten the memo.

~~~

 _May 21, 2001 - Seattle, Washington_

“So you want Dad to fuck you?”

“I want him to be happy.” Dean’s eyes were glistening when he dropped his head. “How else can I say I’m sorry?”

Sam’s stomach flipped at the earnest honesty. Sometimes, he thought his brother was still that four year old who’d never had the chance to grow up. He also knew Dad wasn’t the only one Dean was trying to apologize to.

“None of this is your fault, Dean.”

Dean’s choppy, bitter laugh made Sam’s breath catch in his throat. He watched his brother’s eyes drift to where the Colt sat on the bedstand between them.

“I don’t think it would hurt.”

He didn’t ask what Dean meant and pretended he didn’t know. Sam reached past him to take the Colt and slipped it into the waistband of his jeans. It wasn’t as secure there as he’d have liked, but Sam had never been able to wear a belt.

Sam sat down on the bed beside Dean. “Why do you sleep with me?”

Dean’s brow knitted. “Where else would I sleep? You won’t let me sleep on the floor and Dad won’t let me sleep in the Impala.”

Sam brushed his hand softly over the bare skin of Dean’s thigh. At his touch, Dean automatically spread his legs, stifling a moan as the movement shifted his weight on his rear. Sam forced himself to see past the newest injuries to the scars beneath them. His thumb traced over the faded white cross that had at some point been carved into Dean’s inner thigh.

“Why do you let me fuck you?”

Dean seemed thrown off by the question, like it should be obvious, and that made Sam even more afraid of the answer. Back when this had started, Sam had gone through with it because he couldn’t stand the hurt in his brother’s eyes. He’d thought it was what Dean wanted.

“I’d do anything for you, Sammy.”

Sam’s hand was shaking when he brought it up to brush his hair aside. It was what Sam had been afraid of last night. Dean was letting him use his body. It was just like he let Dad, and the demons, and the bastards in the back alleys that took as much as they could for a sum of cash that barely covered one night in a crappy motel room.

All of Dad’s vehemence about Dean loving sex was bullshit. It was just one more part of himself that Dad forced Dean to give up only to shove it back down his throat and tell him he wanted it.

Dad picked that moment to turn the key in the motel room’s door.

There was no conscious thought as Sam rushed towards the door. His fist cocked back and he sent a punch flying towards Dad’s temple, hoping to catch him off guard. It fell short when he was jerked back. He drove his elbow behind him and didn’t come to himself enough to realize that he’d just jabbed his brother in the ribs until he heard Dean yelp.

Before he could turn to apologize, Dad surged past him, grabbed Dean’s arm and twisted it behind his back. The sharp pressure on his shoulder drove Dean to his knees. Dean’s eyes were watering by the time Dad released his arm and cocked the Colt.

Sam felt behind his back to find his waistband empty. The gun must have hit the floor when Dean had grabbed him.

Dad stood over his kneeling brother while Dean held his arms behind his back as if they were cuffed, even though the only restraint was Dean’s own hand clutching his wrist. Dean’s head bowed and Dad jammed the revolver against his temple.

“It’s Dean,” Sam shouted. “Dad, it’s just Dean!”

His father said nothing, only sent him an evaluating glance before looking back down at his brother. He kept the gun pressed to Dean’s head while his free hand gripped the spikes of Dean’s hair and jerked his head back so that he could see his face.

Sam held his breath as Dad and Dean locked eyes. Slowly, Dad lowered the gun, but held a hand out for Dean to stay. He walked over to the bags Sam had thrown on the bed and dug a salt canister out of Dean’s.

Dean had his head tilted back and mouth open before Dad had returned to his side. Once there, Dad tipped the can to pour the salt down Dean’s throat. He clamped Dean’s mouth shut until Dean finished gagging.

Tears soaked Dean’s lashes by the time Dad stepped back. Dean fell forward to the floor, gasping in air as soon as his mouth was allowed to open. He was still coughing when Dad dragged him to his feet.

“You’re fine,” Dad said. He leveled his gaze on Dean. “You know you should be over my knee for touching your brother like that.”

Dean shifted then nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”

“We’ll save it for tonight. You had a rough one last night, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Dad’s hand clamped on Dean’s shoulder and he gave Dean a sad smile that lit up Dean’s face like nothing else could. Sam hated that he couldn’t do that for his brother. When Dad’s hand trailed down Dean’s arm, Sam was reminded how much he hated his father.

“Get your hand off him.”

“Excuse you?” Dad raised a challenging brow to Sam.

“How could you do that to your own son?”

Dad stepped away from Dean to fully face Sam. “You know what it takes to keep your brother alive.”

“Not the torture,” Sam said.

Both Dad and Dean narrowed their eyes. It was the first time any of them had ever put the correct term to what was done to Dean.

“How could you fuck your own son, ever? But last night...after what you let them do to him-”

“Sammy, shut up.”

He ignored Dean’s plea and focused on the fact that Dad had the decency to look guilty, not apologetic, but at least like he’d been caught doing something he knew was wrong. It only lasted a moment before he settled into the expression Sam had expected, the one that said he really didn’t give a crap.

“We all have to make sacrifices for your brother.”

Sam wanted to tell Dad he was a sick fuck. He wanted to hate him for screwing with Dean’s head and claiming it was all for Dean. He wanted to but couldn’t because it was no different from what he himself had been doing.

“We’re both wrong,” Sam said.

It took a long moment of Dad looking between him and Dean before Dad pinned Dean with a glare and snarled, “Have you been touching my son?”

Dean blinked and glanced helplessly to Sam as if looking for a translation. He was probably hoping that he was misunderstanding Dad’s question. Sam didn’t know what to tell him. Dad couldn’t find out, and if Dean knew what was being asked he’d just tell Dad.

Dad’s hand came down hard enough over Dean’s tender ass to buckle his knees. Sam jerked forward, but Dad caught Dean before he hit the ground.

“Answer the question,” Dad growled into Dean’s ear. There was a violent warning carried in the order.

Dean hunched his shoulders, leaning away from Dad. “I-I don’t know, sir.”

“You don’t know if you’ve been fucking my son?”

After Dad gave Dean a hard shake, his eyes drifted to Sam. Quickly Sam shook his head at the apology in Dean’s eyes.

“Yes, sir, I have.”

The shout for Dad to stop barely made it out of Sam’s mouth before the wall shook with the impact of Dean being shoved against it. Dean’s head tilted back in a silent scream as his abused backside absorbed the impact.

“You really thought you could get away with this?” Dad asked.

He pulled Dean away from the wall only far enough to be able to slam him back against it. Dean’s face contorted. When his eyes opened, they were glassy with pain.

Sam ran forward to pull Dad off Dean, but was thrown back against the bed as Dad knocked him away. He hit the side of the mattress and slid down to the floor. It took a moment for the stinging of his cheek to register and longer to acknowledge the shock that Dad had just hit him.

“You don’t fuck anyone. Ever.” Dad’s nose was inches from Dean’s as he spat the words. “What part of that haven’t I made clear?”

“I know, Dad. I didn’t, I swear. I get him off, that’s it.”

By the time Sam was using the bed to pull himself back to his feet, Dad’s stance had relaxed slightly. He released his grip on Dean’s shoulders. The skin was red where his hands had been.

“I didn’t authorize that.”

“I know, sir. I just thought-”

“You’re not allowed to think.” Dean flinched at Dad’s shouted words. “You have no way of knowing when it’s the demon making the calls for you. When you make decisions, people die.”

After a weak nod, Dean’s head dropped to his chest.

“Don’t plan on being able to walk for the next few days.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But it’s going to have to wait because I need you for tonight. Get dressed and meet me in the car in two minutes. We’ve got a hunt.”

~~~

 _May 21, 2001 - Portland, Oregon_

They had packed in silence and skipped breakfast. Dean hadn’t even hit the bathroom or done anything aside from throw on yesterday’s clothes. It had been painful just watching him get dressed. Even with Sam helping to slip on his t-shirt, Dean had barely managed it and he’d still insisted on adding an overshirt and jacket.

When Dad had ordered Dean to ride shotgun, Sam had been ready for a fight. He hadn’t gotten a chance to argue with Dad before Dean had insisted that he didn’t feel like lying down anyway.

Sam had fumed the entire way to Portland. It had been seemingly endless hours of watching Dean grimace through the rearview mirror. Sam’s gaze only occasionally drifted out the window to watch the other cars pass and wonder why he and his brother couldn’t be in one of them.

Dad and Dean had gone about discussing the hunt like everything was business as usual while Sam sat in the back, jaw clenched so hard that the muscles were now exhausted. He hadn’t heard a word about the case.

He’d been too busy glaring lasers through the back of Dad’s head, locked in a sick train of thought. Sam couldn’t decide whether it would be better if Dad was raping Dean or if Dad had broken Dean so completely that he actually wanted it.

His mind just couldn’t wrap around his father and brother in bed together. He’d seen Dean with old men before. Some of the demons were younger, but everyone Sam saw pay Dean were creepy old sleazebags who just wanted to get their hands on a kid.

They might be evil and gross, but most didn’t hurt Dean like Dad did.

Sam had only once seen Dad touch Dean below the beltline for anything other than a spanking. The memory of it still made him sick to his stomach. He knew it was why Dean wouldn’t so much as look at a girl.

By the time they parked outside of a diner, Sam’s stomach was too knotted to even consider food. He was only glad to be here because he knew it had been nearly a day since Dean had eaten anything but salt. Sam had even forgotten to give him dinner last night.

He jumped out of the car to help Dean stand before Dad could tell him not to. His brother leaned heavily against him and squinted up at the sun peeking through the clouds. Sam wasn’t sure what Dean was looking for.

There wasn’t a chance to ask before Dad jerked Dean away from him. He pushed Dean ahead, using Dean’s body to shove open the restaurant’s swinging door. Sam shot his hand out to catch it before the glass panel swung back to hit him in the face.

Dad made a beeline for a table in the back corner. He pulled Dean down into a hard wooden chair beside him and motioned for Sam to sit across the table from them. The other side was a well-padded vinyl booth, and as he slid across it, Sam’s eyes were locked on the pained mask Dean’s face had become.

It slipped away as if it had never been there when a waitress approached. She was an older woman with a warm smile. Like every other female on the planet, her eyes instantly went to Dean.

Immediately, Dean lowered his head. Dad, the bastard that he was, actually checked to make sure that Dean had.

“He’s deaf and shy as hell,” Dad said with a deceptive gentleness.

Dad followed the old standby explanation up with a friendly smile, charming enough to draw a blush to the woman’s cheeks. Sam knew Dad wasn’t really interested. He was way too busy getting off on his own son.

It was just another one of Dad’s cons. Sam had caught enough of the discussion in the car to know that they were here for the information, not the food.

“Poor dear,” the waitress said as she handed them their menus. “At least he has some fine company.”

Sam wanted to scream.

He couldn’t count the number of times growing up that some lady had taken to Dean, whether it was a cute little girl or some nice old grandma. Every time it was the same.

Dad would make up some completely unbelievable excuse for what was wrong with Dean. Sometimes it was just about Dean not talking, other times it was why Dean was wrapped in bandages to hold his guts in. Whatever it was, they gave Dean a pitying look and went right on cooing over him.

Everyone looked right past the scars and bruises, right through the pain in Dean’s eyes. No one wanted to see it.

The waitress’s smile didn’t falter either as she pulled out her notepad. “Can I get you handsome gentlemen some drinks?”

“Two Pepsis,” Dad said.

Sam looked up from his menu to see his brother running his tongue over his lips. Withholding food was one thing, but Dean couldn’t go without drinking just because Dad was pissed.

He cleared his throat and straightened his slouched posture. “And a water.”

Away from bars, Dean only ever drank water. With a twinge of guilt, Sam realized he wasn’t sure if that was only because it was what Dad told him to drink.

Sam should know what Dean liked. He should know his brother’s favorite food, favorite color and what music he liked. The longer the thought festered in his mind, the clearer it became that he only knew a few things Dean didn’t like and had to do anyway.

His glare was sharp when Sam caught Dad’s disapproving eyes on him. He raised his chin, daring Dad to tell the waitress to change the order.

Dad kept quiet. Too quiet.

The waitress told them the drinks would be right up, oblivious to both the silent exchange and Dean bordering on panic.

Dean hadn’t even opened his menu, but it wasn’t like it mattered what it said anyway. Dad would order whatever he thought Dean should eat and Dean would eat it, not because it was his favorite food, but because Dad had said so.

“Can I go to the bathroom?” Dean asked.

“Not unless you want me to take you,” Dad replied without looking up from his menu.

Dean nearly never asked for anything for himself. Then Sam remembered that it had been over twelve hours since Dean has been anywhere near a bathroom. As he watched him, Sam noticed that Dean looked sick.

His breathing was still off and he kept swallowing like his throat hurt. The lines of his face were pinched and he kept rubbing at his temples.

“I’ll take him,” Sam said.

Dad cocked a brow over his menu. “You’ll stay right where you are.”

“Do you want him to piss his pants?” Sam leaned across the table, keeping his voice hushed. “Then will you be happy that you’ve humiliated him enough?”

Dad set the menu down hard on the table. “If Dean wanted privileges, he should have thought about that before disobeying a direct order.”

“You’re un-fucking-believable. I’m done.” Sam scooted out of the booth without giving his father a second glance. “Come on, Dean.”

“Samuel, you sit your ass back down.”

“Or what?” Sam challenged. He stepped closer so that he was standing over his still sitting father. “You’ll throw Dean over the table and whip him in front of that cute waitress?”

“So help me, I’ll take you both out back.”

“And screw up your precious hunt?”

Dean could barely walk as it was. He knew Dad wouldn’t risk giving Dean another beating until the hunt was over.

Usually, Dean wouldn’t take the risk either, but he literally looked ready to piss his pants. It wouldn’t be the first time Dad had made Dean wet himself in public and Sam knew it made his brother feel like shit.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said as he guided Dean from his chair.

Their shoulders brushed while they walked down the tight hall to the bathroom, but once inside Dean roughly shrugged Sam’s hand off his arm and immediately turned away.

“What?” Sam asked.

Sam could see anger flaring Dean’s nostrils in the mirror. The longer he watched his brother’s face, the more fear he saw creep into Dean’s expression.

Dean turned on the faucet and tilted his head beneath it to catch the water, guzzling down as much as he could get into his mouth. When he kept drinking, Sam set a hand on his back to stop him before he made himself sick.

His brother braced himself on the sink then splashed water over his face before he looked up to meet Sam’s eyes in the mirror. “You wanna tone it down out there?”

“He’s going to kill you.”

“Yeah.” Dean turned to the toilet and unzipped his jeans. “Now he sure as hell is.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Dean grimaced. “Look, Sammy, it’s all easy for you to go get up in his face, but it’s my ass he’s going to take it out of and...I’m tired, man. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to.”

The only thing that distracted Sam from his brother’s words was the realization that their conversation wasn’t what was causing the look of discomfort on Dean’s face.

“Does that hurt?” Sam asked.

“Pissing?” Dean shrugged. “I guess.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Wow. Thanks for the breaking news, Sammy.” Dean shook himself off and zipped his jeans back up. “Here’s a newsflash for you – a lot of things shouldn’t hurt, but they still do, and when you go and piss off Dad, they hurt a hell of a lot more.”

Dean coughed and brought his hand up to rub his forehead. He again used the sink to support his weight before washing his hands. When he was finished, he left the water running and ducked his head back under the faucet to drink some more water. He pulled up just before Sam stepped over to stop him again.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean wiped his mouth against his sleeve. “I just feel kind of sick.” Which, in Dean-speak translated to feeling like he was dying. Dean’s eyes darted up and carried a hint of nervousness. “Don’t tell Dad, okay?”

“He needs to know, Dean. We can’t go into a hunt if you can’t even see straight.”

“Just give me a minute, okay? I’ll be fine. Water makes it better.”

“Does this happen often?”

Sam couldn’t tell if Dean was annoyed or unsettled by the question, but either way his expression was answer enough.

“Only after major exorcisms. It’s just some demon thing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Does Dad even know?”

“Doesn’t need to.”

Sam knew Dad wouldn’t see it that way and maybe that, as much as the silent plea in Dean’s eyes, made Sam clamp his jaw shut as they walked back out into the restaurant.

They’d obviously left Dad alone to think too long. There was a quiet, lethal rage on Dad’s face as he pinned his eyes on Dean. Without a word, Dean settled back into the chair beside Dad. Dad leaned into him, whispering words that Sam couldn’t hear into Dean’s ear.

Dean’s already unsteady breathing quickened further. “Yes, sir,” he whispered back several times before Dad stood. Dean was already getting up to follow him.

“Figure out what the waitress knows,” Dad ordered Sam.

It was the same as always. Dad was going to take Dean out, find the most privacy he could and whip him as soundly as he could without drawing attention to them. Apparently, he’d fuck him too before they returned like nothing had happened. Dean would limp back in with drying tears on his cheeks, promising Sam that everything was fine.

Sam had watched them walk out for those exchanges a hundred times over. This time was different. It occurred to Sam that he could - that he should - stop Dad.

For all of his life, Sam had watched Dad do whatever the hell he wanted to Dean because Sam had been too small to stop it and Dean wouldn’t lift a finger against Dad unless it was to protect Sam. This time, when Dad wrenched Dean’s arm, Sam stood to his full height and looked down at his father, prepared to repay Dean for all the times his big brother had saved him.

While Dad was unfazed, Dean looked horrified. “Sammy, sit the hell down.”

“Don’t we have a case to work on?” Sam asked Dad.

Dad looked ready to unleash all the fury of hell right up until the waitress began making her way across the restaurant with their food. At that moment, Sam snatched Dean from Dad and pulled his brother onto the cushioned booth beside him.

The only thing Dad hated more than his sons thinking for themselves was the risk of making a scene. As Sam had predicted, Dad just settled back down in his chair and flashed the waitress another smile as she set two plates down on the table.

“You sure he doesn’t want anything?” she asked with a nod towards Dean.

It was Sam’s turn to smile up at the woman, faking happiness with all the ease of his father. “We’re sharing.”

“Just let me know if you need a few extra fries then, sweetie,” she said with a wink. “Anything else I can get you boys?”

“We’re actually looking for Maria Carter,” Dad said. “Is she in today?”

“Sorry, dear, Maria has Mondays off. Do you need me to pass on a message?”

“Nah, we’ll just stop by her place later. Thanks.”

The moment the waitress left the table, Dad’s friendly façade shattered. Adrenaline was still pumping through Sam’s veins, enough that he didn’t hesitate in meeting Dad’s eyes. Even as he took in the promise of death, he felt a weight ease from his shoulders.

He wasn’t stupid. Sam knew there would be retribution once they were again behind closed doors and Dad could do whatever he wanted to Dean. But for this moment, Sam had won the battle.

There was actually a chance that he could save his brother.

While Dad glared, Sam let Dean pick at his plate and down his Pepsi once Dean had finished his water. Dad stewed silently, just shoving his own food around, then paid the bill when he’d decided they were finished.

“Sam, you head over to interview Maria while Dean and I check out the hunt site.”

“Sure,” Sam replied. “But Dean’s coming with me.”

Dad didn’t even look at Sam, instead turning to loom over Dean. “Are you going with your brother?”

It was a mockery of a question and Dean ducked his head. “No, sir.”

“Dean, you don’t have to go with him,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I do.” Dean’s eyes were empty when they met his. “Get your head in the game, Sam.”

It was Dean quoting Dad, right down to the ‘Sam’ that he had never called him before. He hated the name Sammy, but he loved it coming from Dean.

Dad made a show of gripping the nape of Dean’s neck and leading him out the door. There was a silent warning in Dad’s eyes as he glanced back over his shoulder at Sam. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to interpret it, but he took it as a declaration of war.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam wanted to tell Dad to go to hell.

In his mind, he grabbed Dean’s arm and they ran, maybe even stole the Impala, and went where Dad could never find them. He would do just that if he didn’t already know what the outcome would be. If he didn’t already know that Dean would choose Dad over him every single time.

He couldn’t take his brother turning away for good anymore than he could make himself leave Dean.

A question ached in the back of his mind, wondering if Dean’s attempts to push him away lately had been sincere. Maybe Dean wasn’t trying to protect him. Maybe he actually wanted to be left alone with Dad.

Too bad. There was no way Sam could leave his brother to this life. If Dean wanted to be with Dad it was only because he didn’t think anyone else would want him.

Dean had given everything for Sam, would still do anything for him, but the one thing Dean would never do was lift a finger to protect himself from Dad. If Sam left, no one would be here to protect Dean - not from Dad or the demons, or Dean himself.

If Sam brought the fight he wanted now, it would end with him walking out the door alone. He wouldn’t cross that threshold until he was sure he would have Dean at his side.

So he forced himself to stand back as Dad rushed Dean into the passenger seat of the Impala. As he watched, he was struck with the realization that Dad could take Dean away. There was nothing to stop him from driving and never looking back.

Nothing except for Dean.

After strapping on his seatbelt, Dean looked up through the window and met Sam’s eyes. This wasn’t Dean running away. There was a silent promise in Dean’s gaze that he would only let Dad take him so far.

Sam nodded his own promise as the Impala backed out of the parking space.

He pulled himself together and forced his focus to the hunt. It wasn’t that he cared about saving the lives of strangers, not when those strangers didn’t give a crap about his brother. His only concern was getting the facts straight to ensure that Dean survived the hunt.

Miss Carter’s house was over a mile from the diner and on the way to the hunt site. It would have made a lot more sense for Dad to have driven him there, but he knew that this had been less about conquering and more about dividing.

Dad’s only real priority was getting Dean alone. Sam tried not to think about how bad it could get when he wasn’t there.

He thought about calling a cab, just out of spite. The distance was nothing. Sam couldn’t even guess how many miles Dad made Dean run in a typical day. While Sam didn’t have the same intensive training, he did have to keep up with his brother.

Sam would love to waste money on a cab just to piss Dad off, but he instead took to the sidewalk. Any money he spent would mean that Dean would have to let more strangers use him to make up the lost cash.

He needed the air anyway.

The only problem with walking was that it gave him too much time to think. It was too much time away from Dean and too hard to know that right now, wherever he was, Dean was being hurt. His brother was scared and confused and his father was beating the crap out of him or fucking him or just reiterating how much of a worthless piece of shit he thought Dean was.

Dad was the reason that Dean not only wanted to die, but thought killing himself would be a community service. Sam was pretty sure Dad wanted Dean to do it so he could get rid of him and say it wasn’t his fault.

Sam’s insides were twisted in knots by the time he reached the address they had for Miss Carter. He’d actually been so distracted that he’d walked right past the place until he’d looked up and realized the house numbers were too high.

By the time he was walking up the driveway, Sam had taken off his jacket. It wasn’t hot, just warm enough, and nerves had him searching for a distraction.

Sam had never been comfortable in suburbia.

These were the people that Dean sacrificed everything for. They all lived in their cookie cutter houses, working nine to five, with warm beds and food on the tables. They had parents who loved them and dogs and neighborhood barbeques.

They didn’t know the smell of a corpse or how hard of a swing it took to sever vertebrae with a machete. They hadn’t grown up watching their brother getting fucked senseless so they had enough gas to make it to the next roach infested motel. They didn’t have to wonder how many more beatings their brother could take.

They didn’t know they should be afraid.

He glanced over the freshly mowed lawn and the flowerbeds that were just starting to come into bloom. There was a welcome mat on the front step and a little yapping dog behind the door when he rang the doorbell. He ran his hands through his bangs and wondered if he even looked presentable enough for someone to open the door for.

Footsteps jogged down the stairs and he saw a blurry form through the textured glass surrounding the door. “Oh yes, we have company,” the woman behind the door said in a singsong voice. “I know, it’s so exciting. I get it, now hush-up, Molly.”

A young woman answered the door cuddling a Pomeranian in her arms. She poked her head out, smiling. When she saw Sam, she opened the door all the way.

She wore fitted jeans, a print t-shirt with a fairy on it and had straight, brown hair that was cut just a little above her shoulders. Her dimpled cheeks were dusted with freckles that again reared up fears for Dean.

“Hi, can I help you?” she asked.

“Miss Carter?”

“Only during school hours. It’s Maria to you,” she said with a wink. Maria juggled the yipping ball of fluff in her arms so that she could hold a hand out to Sam. “This is Molly, don’t worry, she’s all bark. Aren’t you, sweetie,” she nuzzled her cheek against the dog.

Sam felt as if he’d just entered the Twilight Zone. While he was desperately hoping that his brother was only getting lashes against bruised ribs, not eating a bullet, this lady looked like she was having the best day ever.

He’d never been as happy as she was just holding her dog. And his brother, had never been treated half as well as that dog.

“You okay?”

Her question startled Sam from his stupor. “Yeah, sorry.” He quickly reached out to shake her hand. “Hey, I’m Sam. I’m...uh...”

He’d had over a mile of walking to come up with a convincing cover, but he hadn’t spent one step of the walk considering it. But he’d been raised by John Winchester and constructing lies at a moment’s notice came as easy as breathing.

“I’m from the university and I’m working on my law degree. I was wondering if you’d mind me asking some questions about your brother, Albert…for my current events paper.”

Maria’s smile faded, but didn’t falter. “Sure, why not? Come on in, Sam.”

She never would have invited him in if she knew tonight his brother was going to kill hers.

~~~

After an intensive round of fact checking, Sam had spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for his phone to ring. He constantly pulled it from his pocket to make sure the battery hadn’t died. When he’d finally received a call, it was a cryptic order from Dad. His father had provided a meeting spot then hung up.

Dad hadn’t answered the phone any of the dozen plus times Sam had called him back and Dean’s phone was off. It wasn’t strange for Dean’s phone to be off when he was with Dad since Dad was the only one Dean was allowed to call, but right now, it still had Sam on edge.

By the time night had fallen, Sam was going to smash the useless phone into the sidewalk if he heard one more damn voice recording.

The fact that Dad had given a pickup point at least meant that he hadn’t taken Dean and ran. It still didn’t mean that Dad hadn’t gotten rid of Dean. Even if Dean was fine, Sam still needed to catch up with Dad before he and Dean made an actual move on the house they had been staking out.

Everything Dad thought about the people they were hunting was wrong.

A familiar rumble called his attention. He looked up to see the Impala lazily pulling up to the curb. Sam jogged to the car and jerked open the passenger door before Dad had even cut the engine. In the rush to yank his brother out, he nearly strangled Dean with the shoulder strap of the seatbelt.

Dean groaned as he stood and his movements were rigid. Sam ran his hands over his brother, feeling beneath his flannel and half expecting to find patches of blood. Several of the areas he put pressure against triggered quiet moans, but he couldn’t find any obvious open wounds. That didn’t mean that additional bruises weren’t there.

By the time he looked at Dean’s face, his brother had a brow quirked, though he was staring down at the sidewalk. “What the hell crawled up your ass?” Dean asked.

Sam stared disbelievingly at Dean. “You’re okay.”

“Uh...yeah.” Dean pulled his flannel shirt so it again hung straight. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Physically, Dean looked better than he had at the diner. His skin was no longer clammy and he didn’t look like he was going to pass out, but he didn’t look okay either. There was something distant and dark in those eyes that wouldn’t meet Sam’s.

“What did he do?”

“Took me to the hunt site, just like he said.” Dean’s tone was as vacant as his eyes. “We checked out the house.”

“For five hours?”

“Pretty much. You know the drill. We went in, rigged the place and laid down the salt lines.”

When Dad came around the car, Dean backed away from Sam. He buried his hands in his jacket pockets and pulled his chin to his chest. Dad stepped forward to stand directly beside him so his shoulder brushed against Dean’s. His brother’s breath hitched at the contact.

It wasn’t until Dean turned his head away from Dad that the streetlights caught the darkening bruise beneath Dean’s left eye.

Sam had spent the entire day knotted with anxiety and choking down rage. When he took in the unusually nervous submission of his brother’s posture combined with the black eye, it was too much.

He stepped towards Dad and tried to ignore the fact that Dean again backed away from him. It took everything he had to keep his voice from becoming a shout. “What? You’re just flat out beating him now?”

Dad looked at him like he honestly had no clue what Sam was talking about. Then he followed Sam’s eyes to Dean’s cheek and gave an annoyed huff.

“We were training. Dean’s reflexes aren’t what they should be. I needed him ready for this hunt.”

Sam gawked at his father. “So after spending all night exorcising him you thought sparring would help him heal?”

“Do you think the demons give a shit that your brother had a bad night?”

“‘A bad night’...yeah, thanks to you.” Sam shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. There’s no hunt here.”

The smug confidence on Dad’s face faltered for a split second then shifted to annoyance. “Are you telling me you’ve been out all day and got no info on these things?”

“I got plenty. Dad, they aren’t demons. It’s just a guy with a wife and two little kids. They’re human.”

“You don’t think demons can have families?” Dad gave a disregarding motion towards Dean and narrowed his eyes on Sam. “You can’t even see the demon sleeping in your own bed. This isn’t a judgment call you’re qualified to make.”

Sam tensed his jaw when Dean slinked away. He forced himself to take a deep breath and turned his attention back to Dad.

“I checked it out, every resource I could find. That article in the paper was a mistake. Albert Carter didn’t kill anyone. He and his family were at a birthday party at some restaurant with over a dozen witnesses. The police already have the guy who actually did it.”

“Then they’re holding an innocent man. I saw the security footage myself. It was him.”

“I saw the photos too. They look a lot alike, but it was just a mix-up.”

“You don’t think I checked every possible angle? You don’t think I made damn sure?”

“No, I don’t. I think you saw what you wanted to see.” Sam took another step forward to stand toe to toe with his father. “If these demons are so terrible, then why are we here?”

They were standing outside of a seedy tavern that didn’t have any of the bulbs in its sign working but somehow, was still doing good business. The windows were mostly plastered over with beer ad posters and the lighting inside was too low to see much of anything from the street.

Sam didn’t need to see inside to know that this had nothing to do with the hunt. They already knew where the family was so this wasn’t reconnaissance and they sure as hell couldn’t get supplies here.

He raised his brow when he only got an irritated glare from his father.

“They’re not a flight risk,” Dad finally said, “and we have to wait until later tonight.”

“When the entire family is asleep in their beds?” Sam filled in.

Sam saw Dean shift uneasily out of the corner of his eye. Dean had walked over to stand near the trunk of the Impala, one hand set against the cold steel while the other was still tucked in his pocket. His back was to them and he looked more interested in the passing traffic than in the conversation. He’d obviously been listening though.

“Until they’re off guard,” Dad confirmed. “We’re here because we need money.”

“For gas, so we can get out of town after we slaughter an innocent family?”

“Enough, Sam.” There was a bitter cold bite to Dad’s words. “You know what these things are. They’re everywhere and they can be anyone. And you know what they can do - what they did to your own family.”

“So you claim,” Sam muttered beneath his breath.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

As much as Sam was ready for a fight, nothing would come of it. Dad wasn’t going to listen to anything he said. His only hope was to get through to his brother, but he’d have to get Dean away from Dad to even have half a chance at that. Even then, it was unlikely. Dad could tell Dean to dig out both his eyes with a spoon and Dean would ask Dad for a spoon.

It looked like he would at least get a chance to try because Dad let it drop and walked past Sam towards the bar. He didn’t wait for either of them before pushing open the door and slipping inside.

Sam sneered at Dad’s back before walking over to Dean. He set a soft hand on his brother’s arm.

There was no reaction from Dean, who just kept his eyes fixed on the passing headlights. Sam moved in closer and wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulder, leaning in to his brother and staring out towards the blur of cars.

“I’m worried about you,” Sam said.

“Stop wasting your time.”

“You’re all I got, Dean. What else am I supposed to worry about?”

“Don’t worry.” Dean’s tone was frighteningly calm. “You’ll be fine.”

“Dean?” Sam’s chest tightened as he turned his head towards his brother. “What did Dad tell you?”

Dean was silent long enough that Sam opened his mouth to ask the question again, but Dean finally spoke.

“That things are gonna change. I can’t...” Dean lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Sam moved his own hand from Dean’s shoulder to take over. “I won’t.”

There was finality in his conclusion but no explanation. Sam’s heart was in his throat when he turned Dean towards him. His brother didn’t fight him. When the streetlight chased away the shadows from Dean’s face, Sam could see the tear trail running down his cheek.

Sam’s grip tightened on Dean’s arm, his tone becoming more anxious. “Dean, what did Dad say?”

“He said a lot of things, Sammy, but it’s not Dad.” Dean tilted his head up, looking past Sam before letting his eyes close. “It hurts all the time...this thing inside me.” With a sharp movement, his head snapped down and his eyes flashed open to lock with Sam’s. “I don’t think the exorcisms are working anymore.”

“Then we’ll find something else.”

“I’m not safe, not for anyone and Dad, he….” Dean looked away. “If you’re not here, I don’t wanna be either. And he’s right. I can’t go with you.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere, Dean.”

“You gotta promise you will.”

“I won’t.” Sam shook head. “Never. I already told you that and I meant it.”

“Sammy, I can get you out of this.”

“Then get us both out. Let’s get in the car and go. Please, Dean, let’s just go.”

“Dean!” Dad’s voice cut through the light chill of the night air.

He was standing in the doorway of the bar and slammed a fist against the side of the building like getting Dean into the bar right now was a national emergency. Dean instantly spun on his heels and headed for Dad. The instant he was in reach, Dad grabbed his arm and swatted his ass.

Sam’s quick strides caught up with them in time to hear Dad hissing in Dean’s ear. “I need you where I can see you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Just like he sometimes wondered if Dean had never grown up, he wondered if Dad had ever really noticed that Dean wasn’t four anymore. Dad plopped Dean on one of the barstools, ignoring the pained sound the impact knocked from him.

Sam slid onto the stool beside Dean despite Dad’s warning glare. Dad grumbled as he wandered off. He was apparently already in the middle of a conversation with someone.

Whatever they were saying was spoken too quietly to be heard. He was still thankful for the noisy clinking of glasses and blare of a sports game on the television, which would also make it all but impossible for Dad to hear what Sam was saying to Dean.

Dean was even more uneasy than he’d seemed outside, nervously glancing over his shoulder. Sam tapped Dean’s arm to get his attention.

“Dean, you can’t leave me and we can’t kill this family.”

“Dad knows what he’s doing.” It was the first time Dean had spoken those words without sounding convinced of them.

Sam dug into his pocket when Dean swiveled on his barstool so that he could watch Dad. He pulled out a newspaper clipping and a photo that Maria had given him. One was a photo of Mr. Carter and the other was of the man who had been convicted. He slapped them on the bar in front of Dean.

“Look at these.”

Dean gave the photos a dismissive glance before looking back to Dad. “That’s the demon we’re hunting.”

“One of them is.”

Sam tugged on Dean’s jacket sleeve when Dean didn’t look back. His brother swatted his hand away.

“Dude, what?” Dean asked sharply. “I’m trying to work here.”

It was then that Sam realized what Dean was doing. He wasn’t watching Dad, he was displaying himself to the balding, overweight man that Dad was talking too. Sam curled his fingers into a fist and nudged Dean in the ribs.

“Stop trying to pick up guys for one second. Look at these pictures and tell me they don’t look like the same man.”

“You’re such a whiny bitch.” With a frustrated sigh, Dean looked back to the photos. “It’s the same dude. What the hell do you want me to say?” Dean looked back once more, uncertainty in his eyes. “It’s just the lighting.”

“They’re two different people, Dean.” He pushed the newspaper cutout towards his brother and tapped it hard. “This one killed innocent people and he’s in jail.” His hand slid the photo of a similar slender faced, dark haired man beside it. “This one didn’t hurt anyone and we’re going to kill him and his family.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Because Dad says so? Dean, I talked to a bunch a people around town-”

“Who were probably all demons.”

“Right, because it makes so much more sense that everyone in this city is a demon than that Dad just needs glasses. Dean? Are you even listening?”

Sam slapped Dean’s thigh when he didn’t answer. His brother shot him a hurt glare that was rimmed with too much anxiety to make sense, but Sam was getting too pissed off to care.

“Do you seriously want that guy to fuck you?” Sam asked.

“It’s what it takes.”

“For what? To keep Dad happy?”

“So you can eat, so you got somewhere to sleep. So just shut the hell up already.”

“That’s crap, Dean. Dad and I make money and no one ever touches us.”

“Because I’ve never let them.” The words flowed quickly from Dean’s mouth and by the expression that came to his face in the next moment, he’d kill to take them back.

“What?”

“Nothing. Look, Sammy, this is what I can do. It’s what I’ve always done. You know that.” Dean slid off the barstool when Dad waved him over. “Just back off.”

“You’re never going to make him happy.”

“Yeah, well, just one more thing I suck at.” Dean stopped mid-step and scrubbed his hand over his face. “I still gotta try to make it up to him somehow.”

Sam didn’t know what Dean was trying to make up to Dad, but he knew one thing for certain. “It won’t work.”

“Whatever. I told you to stay the hell away from me. This is what I want.”

“You expect me to believe Dad’s right? You’re just some demon whore?”

“Yeah, guess so.” Dean turned away. When he spoke again, his tone softened. “Just get out of here while you still can.”

~~~

This time, the guy Dad had picked had practically been a gentleman. His compliments had been sincere, not that they were anything Dean would be putting on his resume.

The guy had let him keep his clothes on while Dean had sucked him off, which Dad had probably negotiated. It had been a damn good thing too because the lights had been on in the bathroom and Dean looked like shit.

It wasn’t just the bruises, a lot of guys got off on that, but training wasn’t going any better than exorcisms these days. Maybe he was just getting old. It sure as hell felt like it.

It didn’t matter how much weight he knocked off, or curl-ups he did, he couldn’t lose the softness at his belly. Dad never let him forget it, and he shouldn’t. It affected their livelihood if no one wanted to look at him. Pretty soon, nobody would have to.

At least the guy hadn’t seen his body and had given him a decent tip. It was the last cash he’d have to put in the stash he’d been setting aside for Sammy.

He’d failed in chasing his brother off and Dad and Sammy fought all the way to the hunt site. Standing on the back porch, they were still fighting. Sammy would never get it.

Demons could possess little kids, and it sucked ass, but it didn’t change what had to be done. Sure, the kids didn’t have to die. They could be managed like Dad had done with him, but the kids hadn’t killed anyone yet. They didn’t deserve to be punished.

Every inch of Dean’s flesh ached just standing here. It always hurt, he always felt sick and it still wasn’t enough. He wished someone had just put a bullet in his head the night the demon had first entered him.

It would be a mercy kill taking out the kids and the only way to be certain no one else would be hurt.

As long as he breathed, the son of a bitch demon inside him had a chance of getting out. He just kept getting weaker and he could feel it getting stronger, gnawing away at what little was left of him. Soon, there’d be nothing left and all the precautions in the world wouldn’t be enough.

He wouldn’t take the chance that the night he lost control would come when Sammy was the one on watch. Dean wanted to go out while there was still something human left in him.

He was scared.

Not of dying, but of what would happen to Sammy and Dad once he was gone. Now at least, he was sure that Sammy wouldn’t stick around.

Dean didn’t want to believe that Dad might hurt his brother, but he’d seen his father knock Sammy down this morning without so much as a second thought. The skin on Sammy’s cheek was still too red and with the way Sammy pushed, it wouldn’t take much for Dad to loose his temper and do something he didn’t mean to.

His brother wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t have anyone else, but that was just another reason for Dean to go.

Sammy could be out there living the happy, normal life he’d grown up babbling about. He could have all the friends he wanted and a family, a real family, not just some demonic whore of a brother. The only reason Sammy was still here was because he’d held himself back to take care of Dean.

He was done wasting everyone’s time. His brother deserved a hell of a lot better and, eventually, he’d be okay. Dean was still afraid that Dad wouldn’t be. Dad wasn’t like Sammy. He couldn’t just go start a new life. This wasn’t a perfect scenario, but he didn’t know what else to do.

Dean had no delusions of a happy ending.

His palm was sweaty against the wood of the Colt’s handle. This should be easy. Just one more hunt. Maybe he could’ve pretended it was only that if this afternoon hadn’t happened.

It had been eighteen years since he’d been in a house like this one. This was the first time that setting up a hunt had felt invasive. They’d spent all afternoon going through a house with family portraits on the walls, the lingering smell of baking in the kitchen and toys scattered randomly through the house. It was a home. This was a family just like his had been.

Dad had to be right. It didn’t matter what Dean thought. He wasn’t capable of making decisions. What he felt, it was the demon trying to protect its own.

He turned his head slightly towards Sammy when he realized that his brother had stopped arguing with Dad and was talking to him. “Dean, you can’t be serious. We can’t do this!”

Dean flexed his jaw and only nodded towards the lock Sammy was supposed to have already picked. Sam’s pleas and arguments, which actually made sense in Dean’s head, weren’t helping anything. The uncertainty was already pushing him closer to inaction.

There had only been a few times that he’d had to make a decision. The last time he’d made a big one, Mom had died.

Dad pushed Sammy out of the way so that he could pick the lock himself. “If you can’t handle this, go wait in the car.”

Sammy kept his eyes on Dean as Dad eased the backdoor open. Dad moved in and made a motion with his hand, directing Dean up the stairs and to the bedroom on the left. The kids’ room.

After Dean gave a nod, Dad moved on to seal the exits. His breath caught in his throat when he looked back over his shoulder towards his brother.

“Dean....”

Dean swallowed and ran an anxious hand over his hair. “How sure are you?”

“About this family?” Sammy asked. “Pretty damn sure.”

It wasn’t a hundred percent, but Dean knew it couldn’t be, not with demons. That was the problem.

Sammy was smart, really damn smart. There was a chance that Dad was wrong on this. Dean knew there was no taking back a bullet anymore than he’d be able to take back the deaths caused if these were demons and he let them escape.

“Dean, what are you going to do?”

“What I have to.” Dean checked the bullets in the revolver and nodded his head towards the back door. “Go wait in the car.”

“Not leaving you.”

Dean clutched Sammy’s jacket. It was a struggle to raise the atrophied muscles at the corners of his lips up into a broken smile. He leaned forward, brushed aside Sammy’s bangs and pressed a kiss to his brother’s forehead.

“I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, Sammy.”

“I’m not,” Sammy whispered. “Not for any of it.”

Their heads rested against each others until Dean forced himself to pull away. He ruffled his hand through Sammy’s hair to fluff his bangs back up. “You’ll be okay.”

“If we stick together.”

With a shake of his head, Dean turned away. They’d separated and he was stalking up the stairs before Dad had returned.

Every staircase was different, but he had enough experience sneaking up them to know how to avoid the worst of the creaks. Usually, his stance would be crouched so he could drop down at a moment’s notice.

Tonight, the position pulled too tightly on the abused muscles of his back. The throbbing ache of his ribs made it harder to breathe the further forward he bent. He didn’t care about being caught in any potential crossfire anyway.

The first door was for the parents’ room. Dean had been through it earlier today. He and Dad had searched the entire house, meticulously putting everything back into place after they’d touched it so that even the dust was left undisturbed. They’d just cataloged what might be worth collecting to sell after the hunt.

There were more things in the house than Dean had ever had, but not many big ticket items that meant anything to Dad. In the bedroom, Dean had found some jewelry that must mean something to the family considering how carefully it was tucked away in the drawer. At a pawn shop, though, it probably wouldn’t be worth more than he could get for a couple of fucks.

Dean peered through the partly open door and watched the couple. It felt like it had when he’d watched Mom and Dad from the doorway when he’d still been human, trying to decide whether or not to wake them after he’d had a nightmare.

They slept in each other’s arms, snuggled in the bed that he and Dad had fucked on this afternoon.

He might be stupid, but Dean hadn’t missed that most of their time at the house hadn’t been prep for the hunt. It had been Dad making a point. This was what Mom, Sammy and Dad could have had, if Dean hadn’t screwed it all up.

Leaving the couple for Dad, he crept down to the end of the hall. Dean pressed his back to the wall, holding the gun up and trying to drag oxygen into his resisting lungs.

Once Dad was standing outside the parents’ bedroom, Dean nodded and nudged open the kids’ door. The room was bright compared to the darkness of the hallway. Light filtered into the room from the streetlight outside and a nightlight brightened the corner.

It wasn’t hard to make out the two small bodies tucked beneath the covers. One hugged a teddy bear in her arms while the other lay sprawled out beside her with the blankets half kicked off.

He stepped into the room far enough to push the door mostly closed behind him. Coldness enveloped him as he slowly cocked back the trigger.

At the grind of metal, the little one stirred. She blinked her eyes and brought a small hand up to rub the sleep from her bleary eyes. There wasn’t even a hint of panic as she gave a little stretch then pulled her teddy bear tight to her chest. She scooted to sit up on the bed.

Her large, trusting eyes met his and she smiled. Dean’s knees nearly gave out. There was only one reason an apparently sweet kid would smile at something like him. Sammy was wrong.

“Mattie, wake up.” The little girl excitedly shook her sister’s arm. “Mattie, it’s the tooth fairy. He’s real!”

Dean’s brow furrowed, his finger stopping half way to squeezing the trigger. He didn’t know who the hell the tooth fairy was, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t a code word for cock sucking demon.

The little girl crossed her arms indignantly over her chest as she glared, first at still-sleeping Mattie, and then at him. “Why does the tooth fairy need a gun? You’re supposed to have wings and a magic wand.”

He couldn’t decipher what she was saying before Mattie woke up. The older girl slowly rolled over onto her back. Once her eyes focused on him, she jumped up on the bed, pulled her little sister close and started screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Daddy!”

Dean leveled the gun at her head. He took aim and pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the pillow beside her. It was instantly followed by Dean running to the bed. In one swift motion, he knocked Mattie down onto the mattress and clamped his hand hard over her mouth.

Her little sister started screaming and uselessly pushing and pulling at his arm. His eyes silently conveyed the warning to quiet down or die. She ignored it and kept fighting.

He hesitated then leaned down far enough to set the gun on the floor to free up his hands. Mattie kept kicking beneath him. It would be so easy to just snap her neck, too easy, because she wasn’t a demon. He could see that in her eyes.

He could see himself before he’d been possessed.

With his freed up hand, he knocked the littler girl off him so that she tumbled back onto the bed. He swatted her butt, expecting it to shut her up, but it only made her cry louder. Down the hall, her parents were screaming just as loudly.

He grabbed the little girl’s night gown and jerked her towards him when she tried to slip off the bed. Her hair flopped over her eyes. Dean took a deep breath.

These kids weren’t like him. They were like his little brother who he’d never yanked around. His grip loosened.

“Hey, I’m gonna get you out of here, but you gotta shut up okay?"

The little one quieted and he turned his eyes on Mattie, who was still trying to bite the palm of his hand. She froze and stared wide-eyed up at him.

“What about Mommy and Daddy?” the little one asked.

“They’ll be fine,” Dean lied. As soon as the girls slid from the bed, he threw off the covers and pulled off the sheets. “Come on, move it.”

He shot a wary look towards the door then grabbed the gun as he herded the scurrying girls towards the window. The little one turned around and looked up at him doubtfully.

“Are we going through a magical doorway?”

“Sort of,” Dean hid a grimace as he crouched down beside them. “I’m gonna drop you out the window. Go to the shed and hide. Whatever you hear, you don’t come out and if I come to get you...” Dean’s voice cracked and he took another breath. “Then you run like hell. You got it?”

They gave scared little nods, which he knew was the best he was going to get.

“Alright, cover your ears.”

He held his left hand over the window latch then fired another shot from the Colt into the empty bed to account for two dead children and hide the sound of the window opening. Once it was opened, he pushed out the screen and leaned out to verify there wasn’t anything but grass below.

“Here we go,” Dean said as he lifted Mattie up into his arms. He pushed one of the corners of the sheet into her small hand. “Hold on tight then drop. Then I’m sending your sister out. You gotta take care of her, okay?”

She wiped at the tears in her eyes and grabbed the sheet with a white knuckled grip. He lowered her from the window and waited for her to let go before yanking the sheet back up and lifting the little one, who clung painfully hard to his bruised chest.

“I’m scared,” she whispered into his ear.

Dean sucked in a breath. “Yeah, me too, but you’ll be okay.”

“You too,” she said as she gave him a quick hug before latching onto the sheet.

He set a hand on her back, holding her close before dropping her out the window. She let out a little squeak when the sheet stopped her decent. Dean froze and listened to make sure Dad hadn’t heard, but there was still nothing but shouts coming from down the hall.

Dean watched the girls run for the shed and sneak inside. He’d been through the shed, or had tried. It was so jammed full of crap he hadn’t been able to move. There was no way anyone would see two little girls hidden beneath all that stuff.

By the time he turned into the parent’s room, Dad and Sammy’s faces were both red from screaming at each other. Albert Carter and his wife were on their knees with Dad’s gun trained on them.

“Where are our daughters?” Albert shouted.

Dean ducked his head at the accusatory looks everyone in the room sent him, each for their own reason. He wasn’t even sure which one of them was wrong.

“Hurry it the hell up, Dean,” Dad barked.

“Yes, sir.”

His entire body shook as he cocked the gun and stared at the mother. He knew what her face would look like when he was finished.

All he could see was the moment he saw every time he closed his eyes. It called him back to the night he hadn't been strong enough to fight the demon and the one pull of the trigger he begged every night to be able to take back. 

~~~

Sam’s mind kept replaying the little girl’s scream and the silence that had followed. His vision was blurred as he rubbed his fingers over the spot on his forehead where Dean had so carefully laid his lips.

Dean hadn’t known what he was doing. Sam tried to remind himself of that as he imagined the blood soaking into the pillows.

His brother wasn’t a monster. Dean was only confused.

Sam wanted to believe that as he watched his brother hold a gun to the mother’s head. The woman was on her knees, rocking back and forth with soaked cheeks, alternating between screaming for her children and mumbling prayers for them beneath her breath.

He wasn’t going to let this happen. Dean would already hate himself when he figured out the truth about the kids. He was half way to Dean when his brother spoke.

“No.”

The simple word was said with a conviction Sam had never before heard from Dean. It was enough to stun even Dad.

“What did you say?” Dad asked.

They were the same words that Dad often asked Sam, but when Dad said them to him, they weren’t actually a question. As he stared at Dean, Dad honestly looked confused, like he couldn’t have possibly heard Dean right.

Dean loosened his grip on the trigger. “They’re not demons.”

“Look at them, Dean! You’re telling me you can’t see it?”

The certainty in Dean’s eyes wavered. “I-I don’t know...”

Dad stalked towards Dean. His brother widened his stance and looked like he was bracing himself, but the hit he was obviously expecting didn’t come. Dad just grabbed his arm and pointed towards the couple huddled together on the floor.

“We don’t have time for this. Pull the goddamn trigger, Dean!”

Dean looked between Dad and the parents then lowered his head, raising the Colt back up. Dad took a step away, giving him some space.

“I’m sorry.” With the broken words, Dean spun, turning the gun on Dad.

“Dean, what the hell are you doing?”

“Get out of here!” Dean yelled at the couple. “Your kids are in the shed. Go! Move it!”

It was the first time that Sam had ever heard Dean speak to anyone who wasn’t him or Dad. He was overwhelmed with a flood of relief and the knowledge that Dean hadn’t killed the kids.

The couple only hesitated a moment before following Dean’s order. Albert helped his wife to her feet, clutching her close and putting himself between her and Dean. Sam blocked the exit as they ran down the stairs so Dad couldn’t follow, but Dad’s rage was already focused on Dean.

“I never should have risked keeping you alive,” Dad said. “Ever since that demon fed you its blood, whispered those incantations in your ear...it’s over. I’m ending this.”

There was no pause to let Dean undress or hand Dad his belt. Dad flew at Dean with a flurry of fists, knocking him to the ground and driving his boot into Dean’s side. Sam had never seen Dad beat Dean, not with brutal blows that were meant for maximum damage.

He ran in to help his brother, tackling Dad. Sam might be taller, but Dad was far bulkier. He couldn’t actually take Dad, not like he was sure Dean could if he tried.

All he needed to do was get Dad off Dean before his father killed his brother. When he did pull Dad off, Dean wasn’t moving.

Dad threw Sam to the side. He hit the floor hard and the air was knocked from his lungs.

“I should’ve seen it,” Dad said. “How long has it been?”

“Dad, I’m not possessed and neither is Dean!” Sam scooted away on the floor until his back hit the wall. “There aren’t any demons.”

There was a cold mix of defeat and despair in his father’s eyes as he leveled a gun on Sam. “Nice try.”

Sam had no time to process the intent in Dad’s posture before a shot was fired. A second shot came a split second later, shooting from Dad’s gun. Its course was diverted from Sam as Dad collapsed to the ground.

He stared at the spreading pool of blood seeping from Dad’s body. Slowly, he looked up to see the revolver in his brother’s trembling hand. Dean limped to his feet, stumbling to their father’s side.

The blood oozed from Dad’s head. Dad had only ever trained Dean to take kill shots. Sam had heard the lectures growing up while he’d been trying to do homework.

 _Hit the head or the heart or don’t bother wasting the bullet. Nothing else will stop them._

The words had been beaten into Dean.

Sam looked to the hole in the wall inches from his head. If Dean hadn’t fired, Sam would be the one dead on the floor.

“Dad?” Dean’s voice shook as he dropped to the ground. “You’re okay, just hold on.” Dean pulled Dad’s limp body into his arms, half laying him across his lap. He looked up to Sam with raw desperation. “Don’t just stand there. Call a fucking ambulance!”

Sam couldn’t move. Dad was dead.

Dean was on his knees trying to hold up Dad’s head and telling him that he was fine even as the blood flowed down Dean’s arm and soaked his shirt.

“Dean...”

“No. He’s gonna be....” But Dean’s eyes had obviously focused enough to see the gaping exit wound that had acid rising in Sam’s throat. Dean buried his head into Dad’s shoulder. “He was possessed.”

Even now Dean was trying to defend Dad. Sam wanted to agree, not because he believed it, but because it would be easy. Just tell Dean he’d shot a demon and there’d been no other way. There hadn’t been any other way, but he wasn’t going to perpetuate Dad’s delusions. He wasn’t going to lie to his brother.

“No, Dean, he wasn’t. None of them were.”

Sam closed his eyes against the shattered remains of his family, trying to figure out what to do when he still wasn’t sure what had happened. He opened his eyes when he heard a hollow click.

Dean had laid down Dad’s body beside him and was squeezing the trigger of the gun pressed against his own head.


	7. Chapter 7

The shot tore through the roof, sending bits of the popcorn ceiling raining down over them. Sam had stumbled over Dad’s body to knock the bullet’s trajectory away from Dean’s head.

He hadn’t been fast enough.

As Sam got to his knees, Dean tipped over, collapsing against him. Pieces of the stark white ceiling stuck to the dark blood that slickened Dean’s head. Sam yanked his brother up and clutched him to his chest.

“Don’t you fucking do this to me, Dean.”

His brother gasped against his shoulder. Sam gripped Dean’s arms and held him far enough away that he could see his face. Dean wasn’t seeing him. His head lolled to one side and his pupils were blown, but he was breathing.

Sam propped Dean up against him and took his head in his hands. He was afraid to look. All he could see in his mind was the exit wound torn through the back of Dad’s skull. His breath was still in his chest as his hand rubbed over Dean’s scalp. Only after everything felt all right did he turn Dean’s head to actually look.

The only blood that wasn’t Dad’s was at Dean’s temple. Either the bullet hadn’t penetrated or it was lodged in Dean’s skull.

He could barely make his hand work well enough to dig a shirt out of the laundry basket beside him. Clutching a random piece of fabric, he pressed it to Dean’s head. He wiped away the first rush of blood then sucked in a breath as the relief hit him.

The bullet had only grazed Dean.

It took a moment for that relief to turn to shock and for the realization to shift to the fact that a bullet _had_ grazed Dean. A bullet fired from Dean’s own gun.

His dad was dead and his brother had just tried to check out right along with him.

Sam didn’t know whether he wanted to punch or hug Dean as he pressed the cloth back to the side of his head. There was a nasty gash and way too much blood for Sam to feel any real comfort. He knew from years of patching Dean up that head wounds could bleed like a sieve. Knowing that didn’t help.

He was shaking too badly to hold the shirt anymore and pulled Dean against him instead, clutching his barely conscious brother. Dean was awake, but he must be in shock because he began mumbling incoherently against the crook of Sam’s neck.

“I’ve always chosen you, Sammy, but there’s no one else…you’re next...you gotta do it....”

Dean’s babbling continued, but in quiet rasps that Sam couldn’t make out even with Dean’s face so close to his ear.

“The only thing I’m doing is getting you out of here,” Sam told his brother.

It wouldn’t be long before the cops showed up. Sam looked over Dean’s shoulder to their father’s body. They couldn’t just leave him here. He knew that even if Dean was out of it now, he’d be demanding to get Dad’s body back later. Dad had always told them that all cops were demons.

“Can you walk?” Sam asked. He gripped Dean’s shoulders tighter when he didn’t receive a response. “Dean, I need your help here.”

His desperation must have come through because Dean stirred and pushed away. Sam reluctantly let him go, watching as he crawled back to Dad.

Sam choked on a sob as Dean pulled their father’s body up against his, blood smearing over the olive green of Dean’s overshirt. He wrapped his arms tightly around Dad’s chest, whispering something into his ear. Before Sam could bring himself to tell Dean to let him go, Dean began taking off Dad’s leather jacket.

“Dean? What’re you doing?”

“Go wait in the car.”

He vehemently shook his head when he saw that Dean was digging the lighter fluid out of the jacket’s pocket. If Dean was burning their father’s body, Sam was damn well not leaving him to do it alone. There was no way he trusted his brother not to light himself up along with Dad.

“Then get the gas,” Dean said. “It’s in the attic.”

Sam remained beside Dean. He was too afraid to let him out of his sight as he watched the blood continue its trail down Dean’s neck.

“Go!” Dean shouted. “I’m not gonna light the place up while you’re still in it.”

That, at least, Sam believed.

Within a couple minutes, all the accelerant was laid. They stood shoulder to shoulder in the bedroom doorway. Sam rested his hand on Dean’s back as his brother lit the match and flicked it down onto the line of gasoline.

Sam didn’t wait to see if Dean would leave on his own. The second Dad’s body ignited, Sam grabbed his brother’s arm and jerked him down the hall as the room behind them burst into flames. They sprinted down the steps with Sam just managing to catch Dean at the bottom.

By the time they made it to the other side of the street, Dean was leaning against him and the house had ignited into a smoke-billowing inferno.

In the light from the flames, Sam could see the blood still leaking from Dean’s temple and the vacant look in his eyes as he stood huddled in Dad’s jacket. Sam knew that Dean wished it was him being consumed by the flames. It almost had been. If Dean hadn’t stopped Dad, Dad would have killed them both. It would have been them burning.

From the look in Dean’s eyes, it still might be.

Sam had Dean’s arm draped over his shoulder while they stood beneath a large oak tree and watched the house burn. Another piece clicked into place and Sam looked back towards Dean.

“The night Mom died, our house burnt down,” Sam said.

Dean nodded.

“Did Dad set the fire?”

“Yeah, after he killed the demons.” Dean’s voice was getting weak again. “He should’ve killed me too.”

He held Dean tighter against him, pressing the cloth back to Dean’s head. There was so much more he wanted to ask, but he had to get Dean out of here while he still had adrenaline and the numbness of shock to run on.

When they got back to the motel room, Sam basically carried Dean inside. He took him straight for the bathroom and began stripping off his blood drenched clothes while the bathtub filled. There was too much blood to really know what was Dean’s and his brother was shaking.

“Needs salt,” Dean said with a hazy glance towards the tub.

“Not tonight.”

Sam checked the water’s temperature and slipped off his own clothes before helping Dean into the tub. His brother sat exactly where he put him, barely moving while Sam knelt beside the bath and scrubbed Dean’s skin clean of the blood that instantly turned the water pale red.

He was just thankful Dean was too out of it to gripe about him touching the blood. It was probably just because most of it was Dad’s.

“You gotta do it, Sammy.”

He felt lightheaded. His brother was still asking to die.

Sam stepped into the tub and slid in behind Dean, the water splashing gently as he folded his legs so they were on either side of Dean. When he pulled his brother’s back tight against his chest, Sam was nearly trembling as badly as Dean.

It wasn’t as if he could honestly tell Dean that it would be okay.

Sam’s hand emerged from the warmth of the bathwater to hover over the pile of clothes on the floor. He took in an unsteady breath and pulled the Colt from beneath his jeans. The gun was heavy in his hands as he held it out in front of them both.

It would only take two pulls of the trigger.

“Where do you think he went?” Sam asked.

“Nowhere.” Dean leaned his head back against Sam. “But if he went somewhere, I hope he’s with Mom.”

Mom. The way Dean talked about her, it was hard not to envision her as an angel, though Sam questioned the validity of what Dean had told him. His brother wasn’t exactly reliable when it came to his memory of family. By Dean’s telling, their family was perfect and everything bad that had happened was just because Dean had screwed it up.

Still, if Mom had been even half of what Dean said, Sam hoped she wasn’t watching over them. He didn’t want to think that she could see what Dad had done to Dean.

Sam wrapped an arm around Dean’s chest while his other hand held the revolver. “If it’s what you really want...I’ll do it.”

“You’ll kill me?”

There was hope in Dean’s voice. Sam couldn’t see past the tears as he pressed his face forward into Dean’s hair. He nodded against his bother’s head.

“Both of us.”

Dean stiffened in his hold, the water splashing from the tub as he abruptly sat upright so he could turn his head to look at him. “No, Sammy. Just me.”

“Won’t happen. If you go, I’m coming with you. That’s the deal, Dean. We’re sticking together.”

His brother leaned back against him and returned to staring at the tiles. “We wouldn’t be together. If there’s anything after this, I’m going to hell.”

“Then I’ll go too.”

Dean turned his head again and quirked a brow. “You can’t just decide to go to hell.”

“Who’s gonna stop me?” Sam asked.

“Me. I won’t let you.”

“Try to stop me then because I’m not letting you go out alone.”

Dean’s hands reached up to set over Sam’s. “I just don’t think I can hold it back anymore,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“Me too, Dean.”

It was too much. It was too many years of watching Dean be tortured and not being able to stop it. It was too many innocent people that they’d buried. Maybe it would be justice if they died here. He didn’t care and he didn’t actually want to die.

Not that it was a bluff. He wasn’t staying here without his brother. Sam needed Dean to know that. He couldn’t watch Dean every second so Dean had to realize that pulling the trigger on himself would kill them both.

“Maybe it’ll get better,” Sam said.

“It’s only ever gotten worse.”

He kissed the top of Dean’s head. “I know.” He hugged Dean closer and tried to think how he could express to Dean how much would change without Dad around. There was no way to say it without pushing Dean away. “Maybe we could just try? You know, just for a little while and then if you still want to-.”

“It won’t get better, but I’m not gonna kill you too.”

~~~

The sun had barely cleared the horizon the next morning when panic rippled through Sam. On the edge of sleep, he couldn’t immediately place the unease until his hand reached for Dean and he was greeted with only the coolness of an empty bed.

Sam shot to full awareness. His heart beat heavy in his chest, nearly so loud that he missed the familiar panted breaths. Slowly he sat up to look over the edge of the bed. On the floor, he made out the silhouette of Dean’s body.

The paleness of Dean’s bare skin caught what little light slipped in beneath the curtains. Pants dissolved into grunts as Dean pushed himself to finish a rapid fire set of curl-ups that he’d obviously been working on for some time.

It took a moment for Sam to get what his brother was doing. It was so normal that it was starkly out of place. Dad was dead and Dean was going about his morning routine as if nothing had changed.

After a couple more rises, Dean collapsed heavily back onto the grungy carpet. His exhausted limbs sprawled over the floor in a position that Sam would’ve considered obscene if it wasn’t so natural for Dean. But it also was the one sign that something had changed.

No matter how exhausted he was, Dean never let himself go like that unless Dad was away.

With a tightness in his chest, Sam wondered if that was what Dean was doing - pretending that last night had been only been a nightmare and Dad was on a solo hunt. It wasn’t like Dean was alone in that. Part of Sam was also waiting for Dad to walk in through the door.

The moment Sam flicked on the lamp, Dean launched himself off the floor in a fluid shock of movement. He stood at the end of the bed with fists ready.

Most people would look ridiculous standing naked and poised as if ready to take on an entire army, but not Dean. The lack of clothing only accentuated his strength, even as his arms were less than steady, no doubt from a hundred more pushups than he should have done.

Sam’s thoughts turned bitter as he took in the purpling bruises that spotted Dean’s torso. Sam’s gaze moved up the flushed skin until he met Dean’s reddened eyes. Dean was slowly focusing as if he was coming out of a trance or back from wherever he went to escape when things got bad.

When he fully acknowledged that it was Sam, Dean settled down, resting on the edge of their bed. Dean’s back was to him and Sam watched the quick movements of Dean’s heaving chest as his brother struggled to catch his breath.

Sam’s eyes followed the trickle of sweat that traveled from the nape of Dean’s neck down between his trembling shoulder blades and over the crisscross of bruises. He sat up on the bed, biting his lip.

What was he supposed to say?

 _‘Morning. Oh, and hey, Dean, sorry Dad’s dead._

He scoffed at his own stupid thoughts. There were no words. Nothing could fix this. Dean’s slumped posture echoed that sentiment loud and clear.

Sam didn’t know what they were supposed to do, but they couldn’t just sit here forever. “Did you sleep at all?”

Dean shrugged and abruptly stood. He limped to the side of the bed and grabbed his jeans, stepping into them before he began carefully packing things - Dad’s things - into his bag. Dean’s expression was completely unreadable, even to Sam.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked.

Again Dean shrugged and Sam knew it didn’t matter. They both needed to get away from the last room they’d shared with Dad, away from the last bed that Dad had probably fucked Dean in and the bathroom they’d nearly killed themselves in.

It was what Dad had done after Mom. He had run as far and hard as he could. Dad hadn’t stopped running until the day he’d died. Instead of facing what had happened, he’d spent his life molding his son into the thing he hated most just so he’d have someone to blame.

Sam found himself focusing on the gauze patch taped to Dean’s temple and was afraid that he couldn’t read Dean because there was nothing to read. His brother’s entire life had been about Dad. Dean had lived for the man before killing him for Sam and now he was only here because he didn’t want Sam to die.

He wondered if that was why Dean wouldn’t talk to him. When he really thought about how he felt about Dad’s death, he realized that maybe Dean was right to hate him.

This was it. This was what he’d wanted for his brother. Not like this, but Dad gone was the only way Dean would have ever had the chance to start over.

Sam had spent so long trying to figure out how he would get Dean away that he hadn’t imagined what would come next. In his mind, Dad had been there and then he wasn’t and then everything was perfect. What a load of crap.

It wasn’t going to be perfect, but they had to start somewhere. “We can stop at the diner.”

Dean threw the over-loaded duffle over his shoulder. “If you’re hungry.”

He swallowed back tears at the disinterest in Dean’s voice. It screamed through his entire body. It was defeat. He had to find a way past it because Dean wouldn’t give it much longer and Sam wasn’t ready to die.

After throwing on some clothes, he grabbed his own bag. Dean ran out of the room like it was on fire while Sam hesitated, giving a final glance over the room before shutting the door.

~~~

For lack of anything better to do, they did go to the diner, but they didn’t make it in the door. Before Sam’s hand closed around the handle, Dean grabbed his arm and jerked him back.

Years of hunting together meant that Sam didn’t question Dean’s snap judgments. He followed his brother out of view of the restaurant’s window before looking for an explanation.

Dean said nothing, but nodded towards the diner. Sam followed his brother’s line of sight to see the crowd inside. The patrons and a couple of waitresses surrounded a family. He had to take a second look to realize that it was the family from last night.

It was the community coming together for the people Dean had saved. Sam began to smile until his gaze drifted back to his brother.

There was darkness in Dean’s eyes as he watched the family. Sam didn’t know if Dean was wondering why it couldn’t have been their family or if he was having second thoughts about having let this family go.

Sam didn’t want to consider that Dean might be able to look at those children’s smiles and regret his choice.

“We should go,” Sam said, as he pulled Dean after him.

Dean looked like he was going to argue, glancing once more towards the family, but followed along with Sam. They walked quickly down the sidewalk and turned the corner back to where the car was parked. Dean hopped into the driver’s seat and Sam watched as his brother settled in.

Sam had never actually seen Dean drive before this morning. He knew that Dean could take the entire car apart, piece by piece, and put it back together, better than ever. It had even been Dean who had taught Sam to drive, but whenever Sam had been in the car, it had always been either himself or Dad behind the wheel.

His brother didn’t suck so bad at it that he seemed new to driving. He was just reckless. Dean apparently thought speed limits, and inconvenient stop signs, were vague suggestions. As scary as he was about it, Dean obviously liked driving so Sam just buckled his seatbelt and made sure Dean did the same.

Dean’s hand hesitated before turning the key in the ignition then blistered out of the parking spot to get back onto the road without any more talk of breakfast.

It wasn’t as if Dean would have eaten anyway. They could try again at lunch.

They had been driving in silence for hours before Sam realized that Dean wasn’t just blindly driving away. He was heading in a particular direction and actually paying attention to the road signs. Sam furrowed his brow as he saw the determination in Dean’s eyes.

“Where are we going?”

“Boise.”

Sam was relieved to hear Dean’s voice again, but afraid of what Dean had in mind. They didn’t know anyone in Idaho. They didn’t know anyone anywhere.

“What’s in Boise?”

Dean reached into the leather jacket on the seat between them without taking his eyes from the road. He handed a newspaper article to Sam. Dread washed over him as he stared at the Sharpie circled face of a man surrounded by notes scrawled in Dad’s handwriting.

“No, Dean. No way. You can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what? Keep saving people?”

“You can’t pretend he’s not gone.” Dean’s jaw set tight and his eyes only narrowed on the road. “This is a person, Dean,” Sam said, pointing at the article. “Dad was nuts.”

Sam’s head nearly hit the window as the car suddenly swerved off the road in a blare of horns, just narrowly avoiding a minivan before skidding to a stop along the shoulder. Dean shut off the engine and clenched his fists before throwing open his door and getting out, all before Sam could catch his breath.

He sat in the car for a long moment before opening his own door. Sam rubbed his shoulder where it was sore from the seatbelt biting into his neck and then stepped out to join Dean. When he walked around the side of the car he barely dodged back fast enough to miss a collision with Dean’s fist.

Sam’s mind couldn’t process what was happening. His brother had never physically lashed out at him before. Sam was too stunned to defend himself as Dean grabbed the lapels of his jacket, twisted him around and shoved him back against the Impala.

Dean looked ready to kill him.

For a second, Sam wondered if that was exactly what Dean had planned. He knew his brother was capable of it. Even though he knew better, he could hear Dad’s words in his head telling him this was the demon. He should be reaching for his gun, but he’d let Dean kill him first.

Just as quickly as it had come, Dean’s brief flash of rage was swallowed by grief then choked down completely. Dean looked at his hands like he didn’t understand what they were doing then released Sam before stumbling away from him.

Dean turned his back and walked down an overgrown trail despite obviously not knowing where it led. Sam watched him walk away before he realized that Dean was intending for him to follow.

Sam picked up his long strides to catch up to Dean. His brother’s head was ducked so that Sam couldn’t see his expression. Dean seemed to be looking for something and finally turned off his determined path into a small clearing.

The pit grew deeper in Sam’s stomach as he pushed through the last of the brush and joined Dean on the little open patch of grass. Dean wandered around, sliding his hand over the new summer’s growth of the young tree branches before snapping one off.

Dean whipped the supple branch against the open palm of his hand hard enough to make Sam jerk. Apparently satisfied, Dean returned to Sam and held the switch out to him.

Sam ignored it and instead took Dean’s left hand into his. His finger traced lightly over the harsh red welt that was already rising there.

“It’s not wrong that you’re angry.” Sam’s voice was barely audible as he released Dean’s hand. “It was my fault.”

“What?”

“Mom, Dad...they’re gone because you had to choose.” Sam finally understood what Dean had been trying to tell him last night. He still didn’t understand what had happened with Mom, but he’d figured out that much. “It was Mom or me, wasn’t it? Just like with Dad. If you’d chosen me instead of Mom, they’d both still be alive.”

“Don’t you even.” Dean tightened his grip on the switch, using it to gesture towards himself. “It’s what’s in here. It knows my weaknesses.”

Sam stepped forward to draw his brother into his arms.

“Don’t.” Dean jerked away. “Don’t you touch me. Not until you take care of this.”

Dean shoved the switch back at him. When Sam wouldn’t take it, Dean fumbled with his buckle anyway. Sam gripped his hands tightly, clutching Dean’s hands in his own.

“Please.” Dean looked desperately up at him.

Sam felt like he was staring into a mirror, seeing his own frustration in Dean’s eyes. Dean’s body was stiff, but he’d stopped struggling and let Sam pull him to his chest. He rested his chin against Dean’s head while he felt his brother shake in his arms.

As Dean’s grip went slack, Sam pulled the switch free from Dean’s fingers and tossed it aside where he hoped Dean wouldn’t bother looking for it.

He’d used the things on Dean before and had selected them for Dad more times than that. Sometimes Dean needed it, but right now Dean was just looking for someone to hurt him. Sam would be anything for Dean - anything but that.

Dean shook his head against Sam’s chest. “Dad was wrong about that family. Things close to Mom, they always fuck him up, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still demons.”

“They’re people, Dean.”

“You don’t know that.”

Dean shoved back so that he was looking into Sam’s eyes. His brother was right. It was only theory, but it was the best one Sam had.

“That thing has already raped and butchered four little girls just like the ones we saved last night,” Dean said. “Tell me what the hell kind of human does that.”

Sam reluctantly pulled the article back out. He didn’t have a response as he read over the report. Dean was right about one thing. Just because the last article had been wrong, it didn’t mean this one was.

“I don’t know, Dean.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. Things had seemed so black and white with the family from last night. “We just need to slow down a minute and think about this.”

“What’s there to think about? You just wanna kick back while this monster takes out a fifth, sixth kid? This is our job, Sammy.”

“It was Dad’s obsession.”

There was a flinch of Dean’s fist, the fingers curling before he forced them to release. “How is saving people bad? Just fucking tell me that.”

“I don’t know. I just think we gotta-”

“You work on figuring it out.” Dean turned away, shoving back through the brush towards the Impala. “I’m going to work on saving these kids from this damn demon.”

~~~

 _May 23, 2001- Boise, Idaho_

Sam abstained from the hunt. He hadn’t been able to come up with a valid reason to stop Dean, but he also wasn’t about to help kill something when he wasn’t even sure what it was.

It wasn’t like Dean needed his help to take out a lone demon or human or whatever it was, anyway.

So Sam sat in the car reading through Dad’s journal by flashlight. It had been years since he’d read it. At the time, he’d skimmed the pages he had only understood portions of what he’d read. It had been just enough to scare the crap out of him. Now it made him sick.

The pages held the rituals they used to make the holy water for Dean and the various ways to kill and ward off demons. A lot of the pages were filled with observations of Dean and exorcism techniques Dad had tried on him.

There was an entry about the symbol that was tattooed over Dean’s heart. It had been there as long as Sam could remember. Dean had always refused to talk about it. From the date of the entry, Dean would’ve been seven when he’d gotten it. Sam wasn’t sure what kind of crack tattoo artist Dad had found to ink a little kid.

He’d always assumed it was meant as a symbol of protection or maybe to ward off other demons. According to Dad’s entry, it was intended to lock the demon inside of Dean, which didn’t even make sense. Not much in the journal did.

Some of the exorcism techniques mentioned, Sam hadn’t remembered Dad using, but they matched up with scars on Dean’s body and mental ticks that Sam hadn’t previously known the sources of. Like why Dean was on edge every time Sam did anything with an electric cord. A few others had left no visible marks, but reading about them made Sam want to unload his lunch.

Sam didn’t have to wonder why Dean was so screwed up. He just couldn’t figure out how his brother had been strong enough to keep hold of any level of sanity this long.

The rest of Dad’s journal had detailed hunts and facts about the demons themselves, but Sam couldn’t decipher the pattern of physical cues for identifying a demon. It came down to what Dad had said all along - the only proof was evil.

When he’d been a kid, that had made sense. That was before he’d known that evil wasn’t something that could be measured, weighed or quantified. There was a lot of grey. His gut instinct told him what they were doing was wrong, but maybe it didn’t matter.

If hunting demons gave Dean purpose, if it kept his brother alive and saved innocent lives, then it couldn’t be that bad. He hoped.

Dad had made sure to keep them isolated from anyone who could have disagreed with his opinions. Sam was becoming afraid that his father’s forced isolation of Dean hadn’t been to protect anyone aside from Dad.

There were a few names of people in the journal that weren’t mentioned as targets for hunts. One was another hunter named Gordon Walker, who had apparently introduced Dad to a lot of the exorcism techniques. There was William Harvelle who had served in the Marines with Dad and there was a pastor in Blue Earth, Minnesota, who had tried to take Dean away.

The journal fell from Sam’s hands as the house across the street erupted into flames. Dean emerged from the inferno with blood splattered across his face. Sam could tell from the spray pattern that it wasn’t Dean’s blood.

His brother was fumbling to open the car door and was clutching his arm beneath his jacket. Sam leaned across the car and unlatched the door for him. Dean kicked it the rest of the way open and dropped down onto the seat.

“Dude, you on a coffee break?” Dean slammed closed the door and raised a brow at him. “Come on, pedal to the metal.”

Dean didn’t sound injured. He actually sounded more okay than Sam had heard him for a long time. When Sam looked closer he realized that the bulge beneath Dean’s jacket wasn’t Dean’s arm. There was a little girl tenderly bundled against him, half hidden in the leather of the jacket that Sam wished Dean had let burn.

Sam started the car and pulled away then glanced back to his brother. The little girl’s frightened eyes looked up to Dean in a way that let Sam glimpse past the lethal killer, to the hero his brother wanted to be.

The girl shifted in Dean’s lap so that her arms clung around his neck. There was blood plastered in her hair and as Dean readjusted his hold on her, Sam realized that she wasn’t wearing anything at all. Dean didn’t seem to notice, but there was no reason he should considering how much of his own childhood he had spent in the exact same state.

No actual parent would ever want to see their child like that. Sam swallowed hard and nodded towards the girl. “You should grab her a shirt.”

His voice seemed to startle Dean, but his brother said nothing before reaching into their bag and pulling out a ratty black t-shirt.

“You’re gonna have to let go for a second, okay?” Dean told the girl.

Apparently, Dean had decided to give children an exception to his no talking to strangers policy. Dad had never really let Dean around kids so he’d probably never punished him for talking to them. At this point, Dean talking to anyone was a start.

Dean slipped the shirt over her head. It nearly slid off her small shoulders, but he pulled it back up before letting her grab his neck again. Sam was pretty sure she was cutting off Dean’s air supply though Dean didn’t comment or try to adjust her arms.

She was barely old enough to known her own address. It took coaxing from Dean and some guessing by Sam to sort together something like a legitimate location. Eventually they pulled up to the curb of a small, but welcoming, house.

Sam left the car running and looked over to his brother who was cradling the girl as if he had no more intention of putting her down than she had of letting go of him.

“Do you want to take her in?” Sam asked.

“Nah.” Dean held her for a moment longer before looking towards the gravel driveway. “Well, I’ll just take her up to the steps.”

Sam could remember more than one occasion of sitting beside Dean on the bathroom floor while his brother had taped up his bloody feet so he wouldn’t stain the carpet. He wasn’t sure what Dean had walked over barefoot or why, but he knew Dean was trying to spare the little girl from something that had hurt him.

A smile touched the corner of Sam’s lips as he watched his brother snuggle the girl against him to keep her warm on the walk up to the house. Dean wasn’t dead. Part of him was still here and still cared.

It took some effort for Dean to unwind the girl from around him and then he kneeled in front of her. They talked long enough that Dean ended up sitting on the step beside her. Sam would have given anything to hear what they were saying. Somehow they seemed to be having a legitimate conversation despite the fact that Dean was half mute and the girl couldn’t be older than five.

When Dean stood, he patted her shoulder and pointed to the doorbell before jogging back towards the Impala. They pulled to the side just long enough to see a man open door. He looked around before glancing down and then dropped to his knees, sweeping the girl into his arms.

“What’d you tell her?” Sam asked once they were back on the road.

Dean shook his head and wiped at the blood on his cheek. “She’ll be okay.”

Thanks to Dean, but Sam didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t know what they had just done, if the body burning in the house had belonged to a man or a demon. At the half pleased look on Dean’s face, he decided, for the moment, he didn’t care.

“We should look for jobs,” Sam said.

His brother knitted his brow before leaning back in his seat. “Hunting demons not exciting enough for you?”

“We need to eat.”

“That’s not new.”

Dean’s words confirmed what Sam had feared. “You just want to keep hustling.”

“If it ain’t broke...”

Sam took in an agitated breath and glared at his brother. “Maybe we could rob a bank while we’re at it.”

His brother seemed to silently mull over the suggestion before shrugging. “We don’t need that much money. Maybe just a convenience store when the cash runs out, but we got enough to last a while if we go easy on the motel rooms.”

Sam almost laughed until he realized that there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in Dean’s tone.

“You’re serious. You can’t just go around stealing from people.”

“Hey, don’t get pissed at me, dude. You’re the one that brought it up. I’m fine with doing what we’ve been doing. I take a couple out back and we’re good on gas for a week.”

“Couldn’t you at least play the tables?”

Dean laughed bitterly. When he said nothing further, Sam prompted him with a look.

“I can’t play.”

Sam furrowed his brow. “You were raised in a bar.”

“The only thing Dad ever taught me about pool is that those damn sticks hurt like a son of a bitch.”

Sam’s anger reared as he pictured Dad beating Dean over a table with a pool cue and a crowd enjoying the show. He slammed a fist against the steering wheel and Dean jumped.

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m just not as smart as you.”

“Yes, you are.” Sam forced his shoulders to relax. “I could teach you.”

Dean looked surprised and even like he was considering it, but then he shook his head. “It’s not my place.”

“And getting fucked by some stranger in an alley is?”

“It’s just sex. Easy money.”

But it wasn’t just sex. It was what Dean felt like he had to give. It was his body being abused like it didn’t matter. “No. I’m not letting anyone touch you.”

“Not your call, Sammy.”

“Then whose is it? Dad’s? ‘Cause he’s gone, Dean.”

For the second time that day, the Impala nearly ended up plowing into the side of another vehicle. This time Sam’s head did collide with the window’s glass, hard enough that his vision went fuzzy. He tightened his hands on the wheel and screeched back onto the road. The Impala swerved wildly until his vision cleared.

It wasn’t until he registered that both sides of his face were throbbing that he realized Dean had full out slugged him while he was driving down the highway at sixty miles an hour. If it wasn’t the middle of the night, someone could be dead right now.

With the taste of copper on his tongue, Sam tried to force everything down long enough to get them off the highway. Dean had sunken back into his seat, gulping from the canteen of holy water and using his other hand to dig a salt canister from the glove box.

Sam took the next exit and turned off on a secluded side road. He parked the car on a dead end, gravel road. Leaning over, he jerked the salt from Dean’s hand and pushed his shoulder towards the door.

“Get out of the car.”

Dean dropped the canteen back under his seat and did as he was told. He walked around to the driver’s side before he unzipped his pants. After pushing his jeans past his thighs he leaned forward, bracing his hands against the hood of the car.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” Sam asked.

Dean didn’t say no, didn’t do anything, but bunch his shoulders and bend further forward. Sam wasn’t sure if the answer was maybe yes or more likely, Dean just had no clue what he was doing. He’d always had Dad lording over every movement he made.

Sam’s chest was so tight he could barely breathe as it was now his turn to feel for the right branch. He ripped one from the young willow tree beside the car. Absently, he flexed it in his hand as he walked back over to his brother.

“You can’t do this, Dean.” He could barely force his voice steady enough to speak. “You can’t do reckless crap just because Dad isn’t here.”

He set a hand on Dean’s back as warning before the switch whistled through the air to slash against Dean’s exposed rear. Dean only shifted to widen his stance.

“You gotta start thinking about what you’re doing.”

Sam bit his lip, rubbing the wetness from his eyes on his shoulder before following up with several more quickly laid blows.

“I’m going to say stuff that you don’t like, and I want you to tell me when I do. But damn it, Dean, you’re gonna get us both killed.”

Two more tightly timed lashes cut against Dean’s skin. It was nothing like the skin splitting lashes Dad would have given Dean. Sam just had to make Dean stop and think about what he was doing. The last thing he wanted was to hurt his brother.

“We’re not going to be living alone anymore. We’re going to be around people and you can’t just lash out. You can’t fucking punch someone while they’re speeding down a highway!”

Though Sam’s words were desperate, his actions were careful. He returned a gentle touch to Dean’s back before working a steady stream of strokes down his thighs. The impacts stopped the moment he felt Dean tremble beneath his touch.

Dean leaned heavily forward, letting his forehead press against the car’s hood. After giving him a moment, Sam helped Dean to straighten up. When his brother let most of his weight shift against him, Sam looped his arm around Dean’s waist to support him.

They stumbled a few feet to a patch of grass at the edge of the tree line. Dean tumbled softly to the ground with his jeans still around his shins. Sam dropped down beside him, laying back into the overgrown grass.

“Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam sighed and rolled his brother so that Dean was lying face down on top of him. He laid his head back, the grass tickling his face as he tilted his head up towards the moon.

“Do you know why I did that?” Sam asked.

“I lost control.”

“That was for you, not any demon.”

Dean nestled his cheek against Sam’s chest. “’Cause I’m a reckless idiot.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re not an idiot, Dean.”

“At least give me reckless.”

With a soft chuckle, Sam wrapped his arms around his brother. “Yeah, I’ll give you that.”

“One out of two’s not bad and you have to admit it was pretty stupid.”

“It wasn’t your brightest idea.” Sam rubbed circles over Dean’s back. “You just have to get used to making decisions on your own.”

“I do that and people die.”

He knew that wasn’t true. Dean made plenty of decisions when he wasn’t consciously thinking about it. Sam was patient. He’d wait forever for Dean. They just had to start small.

“Do you want to head back to the motel in Boise?”

“I don’t wanna sleep in a motel,” Dean said.

“Any motel?”

Dean shook his head against Sam’s chest. “No motels.”

The question of why was on the tip of his tongue, but it didn’t actually matter why. Sam wasn’t about to deny Dean anything and questioning the decisions he coaxed Dean into making wasn’t exactly going to help their progress.

“You wanna stay here?”

He felt Dean nod against him and almost simultaneously felt a shiver shake through Dean’s body.

“Okay, but we’re gonna sleep in the car.”

It was still early enough in the season that the night was far from warm. Even if it had been summer, Sam didn’t actually know where they were. They had the moon to see their immediate surroundings, but for all he knew they were in a private driveway and there was a house behind the trees.

They didn’t know if there were actually demons in the area.

Dean rolled off him, moaning quietly as he got to his feet. While Sam dug an old moth-eaten army blanket from the trunk, his brother untied his boots, toed them off and stepped out of his jeans.

Just because there wasn’t any heat didn’t mean there was any way that Sam would be able to talk Dean into sleeping clothed. He’d never seen Dean sleep with clothes on except when he passed out from exhaustion.

His brother came to his side with his clothes bundled in his arm. The dried blood that had been caked on his face had been cut through by tear tracks but still needed to be washed off. Sam didn’t want to see it in the morning.

“Go ahead and lay down,” Sam told Dean as he opened the back door of the car for him. “I’ll clean you up.”

Sam grabbed a rag, a bottle of water and the first aid kit before closing the trunk. When he came back, Dean laid on his stomach stretched over the leather with his arms folded beneath his chin and resting on the edge of the seat.

He crouched down on the ground beside Dean and moistened the rag, wiping Dean’s face clean before changing the bandage on his head. The wound was still raw, but at least by flashlight it looked like it was healing.

When he was finished, Sam ran his hand over Dean’s hair and waited for Dean to scoot over on the seat before sliding in beside him. Dean sat up to get out of the way and seemed to think he would be made to sleep like that.

“Come here.” Sam eased Dean back down so that his head lay over Sam’s lap. “This is good.”

Dean tucked his knees up to fit into the tight spot before Sam laid the blanket over him. Sam’s legs were already complaining about the cramped quarters, but it was impossible to care as the hand he had set on Dean soon rose and fell with the rhythmic breaths of his brother finally resting.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean had been up since dawn. He braced himself with his elbows on his knees as he fought for air. His heart hammered in his chest.

He’d run until his legs felt like they were going to give out, his calves and thighs burning. Then he’d run some more, ducking into the brush when the occasional car drove by. Now his lungs were screaming. The coolness of the morning air was a relief against his skin, but only made his throat more raw.

A wave of nausea passed over him. He swallowed it down. With the back of his hand, he wiped the stinging sweat from his brow before sprinting back down the road.

He’d be getting another whipping if he didn’t get back before Sammy woke up. His brother had never liked him slipping out, but Dean would rather take the punishment than wake up Sammy when his brother needed the sleep.

Dean’s boots slammed hard against the pavement before the road again gave way to the rough gravel of the dead end the Impala was tucked into. He collapsed across the road from the car. The gravel bit into the palms of his hands as he landed on all fours. His head was held low as he gasped.

“Dean!”

So much for getting back before Sammy woke up.

His brother was suddenly at his side, feeling over him as if looking for an injury. It was a concerned touch he didn’t deserve. Dean shrugged away from Sammy’s hands and swiped his arm over his forehead before unsteadily shoving himself to his feet.

He stumbled towards the car and leaned back against it. It felt too hot beneath the heat of the dappled early morning sun, but he was too lightheaded to move to the shade. Besides, it couldn’t actually be as hot as it felt since Sammy was bundled in a jacket.

His entire body felt like it was about to shake apart and it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t fit enough, he wasn’t strong enough and he wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t run far enough.

Dean stumbled over to the ditch and bent over when nausea again rippled through him. He expelled the salty holy water he’d downed before heading out.

His eyelashes were wet as he squeezed his eyes closed against the sight of Dad’s body burning. It was all he could see.

Sammy set a hand on his shoulder. Dean nodded and straightened up without meeting his eyes. He made a couple of attempts at getting his hands to work the buckle of his jeans before Sammy moved to press his chest to Dean’s back.

His brother reached around to grasp his hands. “You’re not in trouble.”

Dean doubted that, but let Sammy wrap his arms around his chest and relaxed back against him. One of Sammy’s hands traced against Dean’s neck, the fingers pressing lightly against his pulse.

“How long have you been running?”

He gave a shrug because he didn’t know and it didn’t matter. Dean kicked at the gravel before slipping from Sammy’s arms and stepping away. He peeled off the sweat-drenched t-shirt and used it to mop the sticky wetness from his skin before tossing it into the back of the car.

As he released a heavy breath, he laced his fingers behind the back of his head. He let the air cool his skin and his eyes again slipped closed. His heart hadn’t slowed, but he wasn’t sure how much of that was from the running and how much was just the way he was.

He couldn’t get it to slow down or get himself to catch his breath.

When his eyes opened there was a water bottle being held out to him, not holy water, but a regular old beat up sports bottle. Maybe Sammy blessed it while he was out.

Dean gave a nod of gratitude and gulped down the already open bottle, thankful that Sammy had already twisted off the cap. He gulped it down so quickly that he ended up choking on it. Sammy patted his back until he could breathe again and snatched away the bottle before Dean could set it back to his lips.

“Dean, what’re you doing?”

It was obviously a trick question unless Sammy had suddenly gone blind. While Dean tried to come up with an answer that would be least likely to upset Sammy, his brother somehow got pissed off anyway.

Sammy crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at him. “You’re still training.”

“Yeah...” Dean glanced around, trying to figure out what the punch line was. “You know I gotta train more than you.”

“No, you don’t,” Sammy said. “You’re not fat, you’re not weak and if you keep this up, you’re going to have a heart attack or just disappear completely.”

He knew he was thin and nearly solid muscle, but he still had extra fat hanging around, which he was pretty sure shouldn’t even be possible. It was obviously the demon, probably some kind of wasting disease from the demon drawing his energy. He kept stepping up his training and it felt like he was just getting weaker.

“Whatever.” Dean grabbed a fresh shirt from the trunk and pulled it on when Sammy wouldn’t stop looking at him. “You ready to hit the road, or what?”

“Yeah. You should eat. And I think we need to do some research.”

“I know.” Dean headed to the passenger side of the car when Sammy blocked him from the driver’s side. He looked over the car at his brother before pulling open the door. “We need a hunt.”

“No, I mean about demons.”

Dean stopped part way to climbing in the car. “Why? We got Dad’s journal, we were fucking raised hunting these things. You grew up with one. Who’s gonna know more than us?”

“Dean, we need to talk to someone else. I’m just not sure that we’re doing the right thing here.”

With a roll of his eyes, Dean dropped into his seat. “We’re not having this conversation again,” he said before slamming the door shut.

Sammy threw open his door. “Don’t you even wonder?” He slid into the seat beside Dean. “If you can look me in the eyes and tell me that you’re a hundred percent sure on this then I’ll go with it. But you can’t know. I mean, the way Dad raised us...”

“I’m sure.” Dean locked eyes with his brother. “If the thing that raped that little girl, if all those sons of bitches who ever laid a hand on me, qualify for human then we might as well just burn the whole damn place down anyway. Sammy, I know evil. I see it - I feel it in my blood every second of every fucking day. This is what we do. We got a chance at making it better.”

Sammy looked like he was gearing up for a lecture, but it died on his tongue. His brother settled back in his seat and turned on the engine.

“You’re not evil, Dean.”

Dean turned to look out the window. “I killed our parents.”

“To save me.”

It was exactly what the demon had wanted. Dean didn’t know why, but he knew it wanted Sammy isolated. He needed his brother to get it through his thick head what he was before the demon made its move.

His breath caught in his throat as he turned back to his brother. “Now I need you to save me.”

~~~

 _May 27, 2001- Denver, Colorado_

Sam couldn’t give Dean what he was asking for.

Dean wanted him to be someone that he was terrified of becoming. What really scared him was how much he wanted to give in.

He was tired of seeing his brother terrified and desperate. Dean was running them both ragged.

Under Dad’s rule it had been a simple nightly routine of spanking Dean, giving him some salt and holy water and peacefully going to bed in each other’s arms. Without that, Dean wouldn’t sleep, and neither of them touched each other because Dean didn’t think it was safe for him to lie next to Sam.

Sam had finally had to force Dean into staying in motels because Sam was pretty sure he was going to get a blood clot in his leg from sleeping in the Impala. He didn’t mind risking that to keep Dean happy, but it wasn’t working now that Dean wouldn’t let him sleep beside him.

If they weren’t both on the back bench, one of them had to sleep in the front, which neither of them wanted the other doing. Or there was Dean’s preference of sleeping outside while Sam slept inside on the back seat, which wasn’t happening. Even if it was safe, it was hard enough to keep an eye on Dean when Sam had to basically sit up all night and listen for the creak of the Impala’s door.

Every night since Boise, Dean had begged Sam to whip him. Now that they had a motel room, his brother spent the night pacing or tossing and turning in the bed on the edge of panic.

Sam had tried to hold him, promising he’d stay awake. They’d tried talking and he’d even thought about getting Dean drunk enough to pass out, but Dean had decided that he no longer drank anything other than holy water and wouldn’t buy Sam blessing the whiskey.

Nothing was working.

Their sleeping schedule had shifted so far off course that Dean wasn’t passing out until dawn and wasn’t getting up until late afternoon, sometimes early evening. Sam couldn’t take the constant lack of sleep or lack of contact with his brother.

More than anything, Sam was afraid that he was becoming the last man he wanted to be.

Last night, he’d had enough. He’d given Dean warnings, plenty of them, but his brother had just kept right on pushing because Sam was apparently predictable. He’d cracked. In the middle of one of Dean’s rants, he’d pushed his brother down on the bed and dug out the hairbrush while Dean shoved down his jeans. He should have caught himself, should have seen it was exactly what Dean had wanted, but he’d paddled his brother until his arm was tired.

Dean had thanked him, curled up beside him and went to sleep without another word. Sam had slept less last night then he had any other night this week.

It would be so easy to just keep up the routine and short term, he was afraid his brother would even be happier. But Dean deserved better, even if he couldn’t see it yet.

Somehow, Sam had to verify that there was nothing inside of Dean that wasn’t just Dean and then he had to figure out how to prove it to his brother. The alternative would be the end of both of them. Sam still couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the gun in Dean’s hand. The still raw wound on Dean’s head wouldn’t let him forget.

Sam let the scalding water of the shower flow over his skin, barely flinching, and half hoping that it could somehow sear away the darkness.

Dean was in the other room, searching the papers for a new hunt. Dad would have told Dean to go to bed, and as the water began to run cold over Sam’s shoulders, he wondered if he should have too.

He wasn’t ready for Dean to find a new hunt and didn’t know what he would do if his brother did find one. They’d already been on a few since Boise and Sam couldn’t handle another, but again, it was the easy way out.

Hunts made Dean happy when nothing else did. They gave Dean a purpose that was keeping him alive. Until Sam could replace that, he couldn’t take away the hunt.

He shut off the shower and toweled off, slipping into a clean t-shirt and briefs before letting the residual warmth spill from the bathroom and stepping out into the coolness of the main room.

Immediately, he stiffened. The television was on, a jarring laugh track sounded loud and obnoxious.

Dean was naked, strong body folded over at the end of the bed with his legs spread and shoulders tensed. Evidence of last night’s paddling was still visible over his skin and the belt sat on the edge of the bed beside him. His brother tucked his head closer to his chest as Sam approached.

After rubbing the towel to dry his hair, Sam tossed it onto the table and stood at Dean’s side. He set a hand on the curve of his brother’s back.

“No, Dean.”

“You have to.” The words were spoken to the mattress in front of Dean’s face and laden with desperation.

“No, I don’t,” Sam said firmly.

He already knew from the last hundred times they’d had this conversation that there was no point in having it. Sam walked around to the side of the bed and pulled back the covers before lying down.

“I know you can sleep, you did it last night.”

“Because you took care of the demon.”

There was no use in again telling Dean that it wasn’t about the demon, if there even was one. It was just one of Dad’s stupid, ridiculous rituals to control Dean. It was just one more excuse to hurt him.

He was too tired for this argument, which would only end in him actually whipping Dean. His brother knew how to push all his buttons to get what he wanted and this was the one thing Sam wasn’t willing to give him.

“Then just stand there all night,” Sam replied with a huff as he pulled up the covers. “But I’m not going to whip you.”

It was only ten o’clock, still early for them, but Sam could barely keep his eyes open. Sam was too wrung out to wait for Dean’s stubbornness to give in.

~~~

When Sam startled awake in the twilight of predawn, it was to the blare of an infomercial and the subtle tremor in his mattress. The bed was empty beside him. He blinked and saw Dean silhouetted in the television’s light, still standing bent over at the end of the bed.

“Dean? What’re you doing?”

His brother’s head raised just enough for Sam to see the confusion on his tensed face. Slowly Sam remembered his words.

 _Just stand there._

It was something Dad would have said, had said plenty of times before. Sam had more than once had to bring Dean a cup to piss in when Dad hadn’t let him break position at a wall for over a day at a time.

Sam’s unfocused eyes looked to the clock. It was four in the morning and the bed was shaking because Dean was trembling, his muscles no doubt beyond exhaustion from having held the awkward position for so many hours.

“I didn’t mean....”

It didn’t matter what Sam had meant. He hadn’t thought and he should have. His heart clenched and he was furious at the same time. Of all the things Sam had said, of course Dean would choose to listen to that crap order.

It was Dean’s stupid decision, but when Dean’s past experience said he’d get a repeat beating for moving when he wasn’t told to, it wasn’t like Sam could blame him. Dean had never had to make decisions. He’d only had to deal with the consequences of the decisions everyone else made for him.

The worn down mattress creaked as Sam climbed out of the sagging bed and joined Dean where he stood bent forward. Sam turned off the television and didn’t bother turning on a lamp. They just stood in the darkness that was slightly muted by the streetlights outside.

Sam’s arm slipped over his brother’s straining muscles. “Please just come to bed.”

The words were barely a breath and nearly quiet enough to be drowned out by the sporadic flow of early morning traffic, but with them, Dean all but collapsed as he broke the position. Sam was there to catch him, to help him as he struggled to stand straight.

Dean’s skin was cold to the touch from having stood so still and naked in the cool room. Sam walked Dean around to the side of the bed he’d been laying on with the hopes that the mattress held some residual body heat.

He eased Dean down onto the bed and pulled the blankets up over him before climbing in with him. By the time Sam was lying down, Dean was turned away. His tremors were almost violent.

Dean didn’t acknowledge him, but he didn’t try to avoid Sam’s touch either. Sam worked his hands to try to soothe the sorely aching muscles that twitched beneath his touch.

The contact wasn’t enough, the space between them still too great. Sam scooted in to hold his brother against his chest and silently thought every apology that Dean would never accept.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean rasped, somehow hearing the unspoken words.

With a jagged breath, Sam buried his cheek against Dean’s shoulder and wished he could believe that Dean was right.

~~~

Dean wasn’t training the next morning. He was on top of Sam. The heat of his body pressed tightly against Sam’s. His brother slid down, taking the sheets with him to expose both their bodies to the streams of morning light.

His fingers slipped beneath the elastic band of Sam’s underwear before Sam’s eyes could even fully open. Blinking drowsily, Sam watched his brother, movements flowing and seductive as they could be considering how sore Dean obviously was.

Sam had never liked Dean moving like that. He’d seen it too many times with too many different people. It was Dean putting himself on display, Dean begging to be fucked raw for money or reassurance. It was Dean whoring himself to prove that he was still good for something.

It was Dean looking for a replacement for Dad.

“Dean, no.”

The words slipped out of Sam’s mouth as Dean’s hand began working him up. Dean’s tongue trailed between Sam’s thighs, leaving hot, moist trails that made Sam’s body contradict the conviction his mind held.

But Dean could suck him all day and Sam still wouldn’t come, not when all he could see was Dad. Dad’s hands on Dean, Dad forcing Dean back onto a bed, Dad’s hands searching inside Dean’s pajamas as Dean stared up in confusion.

Sam squeezed his eyes closed and when it didn’t stop the visuals, he shot up on the bed, getting a scrape of Dean’s teeth as he pulled himself from Dean’s mouth.

“Sorry.”

Dean’s apology was automatic and edgy. In the back of his mind, Dean probably expected to be punished for the fact that Sam had pulled back without warning. It still only fazed Dean for a moment before his brother was again climbing on him.

Sam shoved him back. “I said no, Dean!”

As he watched the hurt bewilderment on Dean’s face he wondered if “no” in this situation even meant anything to his brother. He couldn’t think about how many times Dean had likely wanted it to stop only to get it worse for trying to get out of it.

“Sorry,” Dean said again.

Dean rolled off the end of the bed where he’d landed and walked across the small one bedroom.

“It’s fine,” Sam assured him as he pulled back up his underwear. But it wasn’t fine. None of this was. “How old were you?”

Dean stared blankly at him.

“How old were you when Dad...the first time?”

Dean walked to stand naked beside the window, pushing back the curtains just far enough to peer out. When he turned back, Sam couldn’t help noticing that Dean was as limp as Sam again was. Dean always was.

Sam wasn’t sure if it was the effect of something Dad had done to Dean or the just as likely scenario that Dean rarely got hard with him because Dean didn’t want it. Sam really was doing the same thing to Dean that Dad had.

“What exactly do you think he did to me?”

Dean’s tone made it clear that it was a rhetorical question, clear that he was a little pissed and a lot confused. Sam remained silent as he watched Dean work it over in his own head.

Dean didn’t want Sam to answer that question anyway.

“It was a demon,” Dean finally continued.

His fingers played over the silver ring on his finger as he spoke. Sam had no idea where the ring had come from. He only knew that the design matched Dad’s wedding ring and that Dean had been fidgeting with it a lot more than usual since Dad’s death.

Dean looked back towards the bed Sam sat on. “It started with the demons, not Dad.”

It didn’t matter. Dad should have been there to protect Dean, not to continue what demons had started. Sam was about to say as much when Dean sat back down on the edge of the bed.

“I was already a whore before he fucked me so if you wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at me.”

Sam couldn’t even validate that statement with a response. “How old?”

“Who the fuck cares?” Dean shot back. He rocked a little on the bed before shaking his head. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

Even if it had only started the day before Sam had found out, it wouldn’t be okay. Some part of him just needed to know that Dean had at least been old enough to know what Dad was doing to him. He wanted Dean to lie and tell him that he’d been drawn to that sexually molested kindergartner out of compassion, not because he related to her.

It was hard not to notice that every hunt Dean had been on since Dad died was to stop sexual attacks.

Dad’s hunts had always leaned that way since when Dean had been young it had been easy to use him as bait. It had been convenient in Dad’s eyes to let monsters, whether human or demon, have at Dean like it didn’t matter, like the violation was any less because it had a purpose. But Dad had diversified as Dean had gotten old enough to fight.

Despite how screwed up Dean was with his thinking on this stuff, he seemed to catch on to what Sam was asking. “I was old enough to fight back if I’d wanted to.”

Sam wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or only more sickened by that. He didn’t have a chance to decide before Dean spoke again.

“Like it or don’t, but I wanted it. Dad loved me.”

It hurt to know how badly Dean wanted to believe that. Sam didn’t know whether or not it was true or even whether or not it was a good idea to let Dean think that. It would kill Dean to know otherwise, to know that he’d suffered through all that for a man who hadn’t even cared, but as it was, Dean thought that what he’d endured should be expected by people who loved him.

“What if it had been me?” Sam asked.

“What if who had been you?”

“What if Dad had been molesting me?”

Dean remained silent, his focus back on looking out the window.

Sam shifted on the bed. “Dean?”

His brother took in a sharp breath at Sam’s voice then walked away from the window. “If you wanna whip me, go ahead, but I’m done talking about this.”

“I’m just trying to understand.”

“You fuck me.”

The words were spoken as if they were an answer. Maybe Dean took that to mean that Sam did already understand and was just trying to screw with him.

“Not anymore,” Sam said.

Dean’s shoulders slumped and his voice became quiet. “Because of what I did to Dad?”

“No, Dean. Because of what Dad did to you. I won’t take his place.”

~~~

By the time they made it to breakfast, Sam had lost anything he’d had resembling an appetite while Dean seemed to have wiped the entire conversation from his memory. Dean was fired up because he’d found a hunt.

“We should just grab something at the gas station,” Dean said. “We need to hit the road. It’s still a long drive to South Dakota.”

“I like our motel,” Sam said.

Dean quirked a skeptical brow.

It was probably the lamest reason Sam could come up with for staying here. The motel definitely had roaches, probably bedbugs and rats and some toxic mold filling the sagging ceiling. He was honestly surprised the place hadn’t collapsed on them last night. Sam was just too exhausted to summon up a valid excuse.

“Whatever, man,” Dean grumbled as he pushed in through the restaurant’s door.

Dean’s lead stopped the moment they entered the restaurant. He stood back and waited for Sam to pick a table. The instant a waitress looked in their direction, Dean dropped his head. When a menu was laid on the table in front of Dean, he didn’t bother to touch it.

“You’re ordering for yourself,” Sam said.

Dean shook his head, suddenly mute.

It was worse now that Sam knew why Dean wouldn’t talk. The details were in Dad’s journal. Dad hadn’t allowed Dean to speak because he thought Dean might be capable of causing possession in others by saying some spell. Just to be safe, Dad had decided Dean shouldn’t be allowed to speak to civilians who would be unable to defend themselves.

From what Sam had read, it sounded like Dean had been mute when the demon had first entered him and it wasn’t until later that he’d started talking again – when Sam had started talking. It was after Dad had taken Dean out of school that he’d begun punishing him for speaking.

It was another ridiculous ritual of Dad’s that ended now.

“I’m not ordering for you,” Sam reiterated as he flipped through his menu. He was too distracted with worrying about Dean to really see any of the words on the page. “If you want to eat, you have to order.”

Dean pushed his menu away.

Sam narrowed his eyes on Dean, but Dean’s gaze didn’t falter. Sam was glaring back when the waitress returned to their table.

“What can I get you boys?”

Finally Sam broke off his stare, his eyes softening as he looked up to the waitress. “I’ll have the pancakes and a coffee.”

Sam shifted his eyes to Dean. His brother’s eyes were fixed on the table.

He had Dean’s order on the tip of his tongue and had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying it. If he let Dean do this now, Dean would always do it. Dean was doing everything he could to make sure nothing changed when everything would have to change for them to be all right.

It was also a problem that Sam knew what Dad would order Dean, but still didn’t know what Dean would actually like. It didn’t mean much that Dean had never complained about any food he’d been given because he would have eaten a bucket of glass shards if Dad had told him to.

“Honey, can I get you anything?” the waitress tried again.

Sam couldn’t hold out any longer and risk Dean drawing attention to them. “He’ll just have a water.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Sam wanted to take them back. It was what Dad would have ordered Dean when he was punishing him. Dad had always been big on forcing Dean to skip meals. Apparently Sam thought he was going to change things up by doing the exact same thing.

The waitress was gone before Sam could change his mind and now Dean wasn’t even looking at him. Sam opened his mouth to apologize, but Dean shrugged it off before a single syllable came out.

“You’re right,” Dean said.

But he wasn’t and it wasn’t what Dean thought. It also didn’t matter because he could tell from Dean’s expression that his brother wouldn’t hear a single word he said right now.

Sam sighed as he watched Dean’s eyes wander around the restaurant. It wasn’t an idle gaze. Dean was on alert, looking for demons. His brother jumped when the waitress returned with Dean’s water and a pot to fill Sam’s cup up with coffee that he felt too guilty to drink.

He was staring down at it when he caught Dean’s movement out of the corner of his eye. Dean was unscrewing the top of the salt shaker. Sam’s hand shot out to cover the top of Dean’s glass.

“Just drink it straight,” Sam said.

“If you’re not going to deal with this thing, I’m gonna have to.”

Dean jerked the glass away, sloshing the ice water over the table before going ahead and pouring half the salt dispenser’s contents into his water. He sat with his shoulders hunched, the way he did when he knew he was in trouble, stirring the water with a spoon as the waitress brought out Sam’s pancakes.

Sam made it less than a quarter of the way though his breakfast before he felt like throwing up. He pushed the plate across the table towards Dean.

His brother barely looked up, shaking his head. “Your rules, Sammy.”

“I’m not hungry. It’s just garbage if you don’t eat it.”

Sam’s stomach was all the queasier knowing that Dean would eat them just on account that he thought they were scraps. At least it meant he would be eating something.

Dean finished his glass of water before tentatively starting in on the pancakes. Once he seemed sure he should really have them, Dean inhaled everything on the plate.

Another wave of guilt washed over Sam when he couldn’t clearly remember the last time he’d seen Dean eat. It wasn’t like Dean decided on his own when to eat. He could be literally starving to death in the middle of a buffet and wouldn’t touch the food unless someone told him he could.

Sam wasn’t sure that he was capable of taking care of them both.

~~~

Dean brushed his teeth beside Sam while Sam was mostly distracted with watching his brother. When they were like this, alone in a motel room, Dean almost seemed okay. Sam wanted to not screw up this second chance and start a new life right for Dean.

“They’re looking for help at the restaurant,” Sam said.

Dean perked up, lifting his head from the sink. “Demons?”

“Washing dishes.”

His brother’s face scrunched. “Huh?”

“They have job openings.”

The toothbrush nearly slipped from Dean’s fingers. “Are you crazy? I can’t be around people.”

Sam threw the toothpaste tube down on the counter. “I’m done, Dean.” He walked into the main room when he saw Dean tensing like he thought he was about to get hit. “I’m through with this demon crap, through with hunting, through watching you get hurt. I’m through being the one to hurt you.”

“You can’t change what I am just because you want to.”

“There are other ways.”

“If there was any other way, Dad would have found it, but he didn’t and he’s dead because this wasn’t even enough. You won’t let me kill myself, fine. We’re trying it your way, but it’s your responsibility to take care of this.”

At some point Dean had taken off his belt and was trying to shove it into Sam’s hand. Sam turned his back and climbed into bed with the hope that his brother would eventually get tired of begging to be beaten.

Through squinted eyes, he watched Dean move uncertainly around the room. Dean was jittery and on edge. He kept rubbing the back of his neck and half swinging the leather belt. Eventually, he flopped down in the corner chair with the leather strap laid over his thigh.

Dean was still staring down at it when sleep won over Sam.

~~~

The room was empty. It was three in the morning and Dean was gone.

Sam’s first thought was to run out the door and tear apart the city, but if Dean didn’t want to be found, Sam would have no hope of finding him. The Impala’s keys were still in his pocket so Dean at least hadn’t taken off with distance in mind. What Sam was most afraid of was that Dean hadn’t had anything in mind when he’d left the room.

By the time the room’s lock clicked open, Sam had imagined Dean dead a thousand times over.

Dean somehow simultaneously looked unsurprised and like a deer caught in the headlights as he stepped through the door. Sam was now pretty sure that Dean had wanted to be caught but that he hadn’t thought the plan through. Typical Dean crap.

“Where have you been?”

Dean pulled out a roll of cash and tossed it on the bed before shrugging off his clothes and jerking his belt from the loops. He met Sam’s eyes with a dead stare, his jaw set in a tense line before he spread his legs and bent over.

“Dean, did you...?”

But he didn’t have to ask as he stared at the wad of cash that was too thick for blowjobs or even just one full job. Sam realized now that he shouldn’t have spent the day complaining about how he needed to stay in the motel because the Impala cramped his legs. Dean preferred the car anyway, but Sam knew Dean didn’t care what he wanted for himself unless it was related to controlling the demon.

Dean muffled a groan as Sam’s hands spread him to check for damage. The area was slick and swollen, but there was no blood. There easily could have been though.

Some day, one of these men was going to take more than Dean could give and he wasn’t going to walk away.

Sam picked up the belt and doubled over the leather in his hands. He clenched his fingers around it and reared his arm back to lay a single searing stripe that arched Dean’s back.

“We’re not doing this. Get cleaned up and come to bed.”

Somehow, Dean managed to look more hurt by that order than he had nearly any time Sam had actually whipped him.

Sam silently stewed as he watched Dean grab the supplies out of his bag. He was relieved when Dean didn’t close the door to the bathroom. It was one less fight they would have to have.

The bottle of ipecac syrup was in Dean’s hand by the time Sam leaned in the bathroom doorframe. Sam hated that crap. He’d taken it once, when he was younger, just to understand what it was like for Dean and he still remembered how bad it was. He saw, every time, how much that level of vomiting took out of his brother.

“Do you really need that?” Sam asked.

Dean knocked some back and raised a brow to Sam. “You know I do.”

His brother used that answer a lot and Sam wasn’t entirely sure that it didn’t mean more than the obvious.

It was the cold water Dean turned on to fill the enema bag and Sam stepped forward to take it from him. “I got this.”

He waited for Dean to turn his back before turning on the warm water as well. Dean was positioned on his hands and knees by the time Sam was hanging the bag. His brother hated him watching this, but it wasn’t like Dean could go anywhere once Sam slid in the tip of the tube.

“I thought we were going to get real jobs,” Sam said as he sat down beside Dean.

Dean gasped when the water flow began. “You are.”

“We both can.”

“And do what? I can fuck and I can kill. See any openings for that in the paper? Son of a bitch.”

Dean panted as a spasm clenched his body. He pressed his head down against the linoleum while Sam rubbed his hand over Dean’s gently swelling abdomen to try to soothe the ache.

“You can learn something else.”

His brother laughed though the pain. “I dropped out as a second year sixth grader.”

“You didn’t drop out. Dad pulled you out.”

“’Cause I was a fucking moron.” Dean shifted either from what he was feeling now or maybe from the memory. “We were using the locker rooms for the first time in gym class. I didn’t think. I just stripped down and everyone saw.... I told the coach about the demon.”

Sam leaned back against the bathtub and closed his eyes. “I didn’t know what had happened.”

But he did remember that night. They’d skipped town, no notice, just packed their bags and went. They’d made it an hour out of town before Dad had pulled over and dragged Dean out of the car. It was the only time Dad hadn’t made Sam watch. Dean hadn’t been able to walk right for over a week.

It wouldn’t have mattered what happened. Dad wouldn’t have let Dean stay in school.

Dad had been talking as long as Sam could remember about how Dean couldn’t be left in school long term. There was no way to monitor him and he was supposedly a risk to the teachers and other students. Dad had never let Dean study, instead making him help on hunts, and had always told Dean that school was a waste of time for him.

It was hardly a surprise that Dean hadn’t bothered with homework. Sam had been scared to death to hand Dad his first report card. He’d seen Dean and Dad - he knew a report card meant a whipping.

It had gotten to the point where Dean would come home, take off his pants, and hand Dad the report card in one hand and his belt in the other. They’d all known it hadn’t mattered what that piece of paper said. If the grades were bad, Dean was an idiot. If they were good, he was a cheater and a liar. If they were okay, he was lazy.

When Sam had handed Dad his first report card, Dad had barely read it. He’d just left Sam to watch the leather strap stripe over Dean’s thighs.

There was no reason for Dean to want to try, no reason for him to think he was capable of learning anything. Sam was just going to have to prove it to him.


	9. Chapter 9

_June 1, 2001 - Singer’s Salvage Yard - Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

The throaty purr of the well-tuned V8 327 4 barrel engine pulled at Bobby’s ears. He hated that goddamn engine. Almost two decades had passed and he’d never forgotten the sound of the one he hadn’t been able to stop from driving away. Every time he heard one of those engines, every time he saw a little boy with his father, it rubbed more salt in that old wound.

He grumbled a few choice curses beneath his breath and tossed his socket wrench down onto the workbench with a loud clank. His hands scrubbed against the oil smeared denim of the pants that Karen wouldn’t even let near the washing machine.

After he stepped outside of the garage, his aching heart froze still in his chest.

A black phantom pulled in slow, crunching gravel and barely kicking up any dust from the parched ground. It had been well over a decade since Bobby had laid eyes on such a well-kept Chevy Impala. He squinted against the glare that the polished black paint coat kicked back towards his eyes.

The light flare gave him a second before he could verify the chassis. His lungs joined his heart in refusing to work when he confirmed the ’67 model year. One glance of the Kansas plate and he wished he had a shotgun clutched in his twitching fingers.

Even Karen, who on most occasions couldn’t sort a coupe from a sedan, had stood from her weeding to take notice. She was too far off in the garden for him to really make out her eyes, but the question was clear in her uneasy posture.

His jaw was clenched hard enough to shatter teeth as the Impala rolled to a stop. Silence filled the air as the engine stilled. In the quiet, it looked all the more like a ghost with the sun’s reflection obscuring the view of who might be inside.

John Winchester had to be the ballsiest bastard to ever walk this earth if he thought he was leaving this salvage yard again in one piece. If he stepped out of that car, he’d be lucky to crawl away breathing.

Sixteen years and the car could have easily changed hands more than once. As engrained as the vehicle was in his mind, he’d never gotten the plate number. He’d laid awake nights wishing that he’d had the foresight to take down the damn number while he’d been aiming the shotgun.

It could be some other poor sucker from Kansas who just happened to be driving through this part of South Dakota, but coincidences had never sat well with Bobby.

The driver and passenger doors swung open in unison. Two worn sets of boots touched down on the gravel at nearly the same moment, but it was the passenger who stood first.

He was a boy, maybe late teens, casually dressed and tall as a beanpole. The gentle breeze swept his long bangs over his eyes and the boy didn’t brush them away. To say he looked uneasy would be putting it mildly. He glanced in Bobby’s direction before leaning back into the car to talk to the driver.

After some kind of agreement had apparently been reached, the driver stood. In the course of a few seconds Bobby felt a decades old weight lift from his shoulders only to have it accompanied by a suffocating sea of cold regret.

Maybe it was the familiar scarred leather jacket or the just as familiar lost eyes of the smaller one, but Bobby was all but certain he was staring at the Winchester boys.

That was the relief. The fresh wave of guilt roared up with the fact that the pain was so clearly there in those green eyes.

Both boys looked as skittish as rabbits. Even as they approached, they kept their distance. They weren’t so far off that he’d have to raise his voice for a polite conversation, but far enough for it to be awkward.

It was far enough to scream loud and clear that they didn’t want to be touched or closed in while standing so tightly together that Bobby would’ve said they were literally joined at the hip if he didn’t know better.

These weren’t happy kids.

The pain of their short years was already etched over their faces. When he checked in enough to see how wound up the little one was getting under the focus of his gaze, Bobby shifted his eyes to the less recognizable one.

The first thing he realized was that the little one was anything but. He looked wanting for a decent meal. There didn’t seem to be much to him under the dozen layers of shirts he was wearing, but his height only seemed dwarfed because the floppy haired kid was a towering behemoth.

Everything about his body language was different. The smaller one looked like he was trying to disappear in on himself while this other kid stood tall, shoulders squared, using his size to warn. Too bad the kid didn’t realize that Bobby wasn’t one to scare easy.

Though he looked no less worried and on edge, the taller boy’s eyes actually met Bobby’s and held a lighter tone of curiosity. His skin was richer and his face was fuller. He wore just a t-shirt with one thin flannel that hinted that he was on his way to filling out.

It took Karen calling his name to break Bobby from his staring trance. He gave her a reassuring wave rather than calling back, only because his mind was already suffering from a massive deficiency of words.

It wasn’t as if he could just up and ask what he wanted without possibly sending the anxious boys running for the hills, and he couldn’t risk not knowing.

“What can I do you for?” he asked with all the casualness he could muster.

The taller one looked uncertain, getting no help from the smaller one who sunk his head further every time Bobby glanced at him. Pretty soon the boy would be digging a hole to bury his face in.

“Uh...we need a taillight...” The smaller one gave the kid a nudge in the ribs and he added, “Like the complete housing and wiring for a ’67 Impala, and we don’t want any post market...” another nudge and another correction, “aftermarket crap.”

“None of that here, boy.” Bobby chuckled and lifted his cap to scratch at his head. “I ain’t got any Impalas in the yard, but I had a Bel Air towed in last week. Haven’t had a chance to get to it yet, but I think it might be a ’67 body.”

The kid looked uncertain, defaulting again to the smaller one. “Is that okay?”

While the smaller boy wouldn’t point his eyes anywhere near Bobby’s direction, he easily met the other kid’s gaze and nodded.

“Yeah, great,” the taller one told Bobby. “Thanks.”

Bobby was almost able to turn his body away, but stopped mid-turn. “You boys ever been out this way before?”

Even as the larger one was shaking his head “no”, the other one stiffened and looked half ready to back away. It was once again Karen who broke the unease. She’d crossed the lawn to come up behind the kids.

“Bobby, you’re not harassing these poor boys now are you?” she asked.

He wasn’t sure what to make of the boys’ reaction when they both jumped as if ready for a fight. The smaller one spun while the larger one kept position and they were suddenly back to back.

Karen’s voice was relaxed and cheerful, but he saw the silent question in her eyes. He shrugged unsure. Or rather, he was plenty sure. Everything screamed that these were in fact John’s kids, but what could he say if they were?

That he’d known what their father was doing and hadn’t lifted a damn finger, had probably just made it worse for them? It wasn’t as if he could blame those green eyes for not wanting to meet his.

When they relaxed, Karen stepped forward easily. She pulled off her gardening gloves and slipped them beneath her arm before holding her hand out to the taller one. The little one had skittered away, but God bless Karen, she didn’t take a lick of offense and just kept right on smiling.

“Hello there, I’m Karen.” She gave a disapproving glance around the salvage yard. It was a rare thing for her to come on this side of the fence that separated his and her portions of the property. “Bobby apologizes for the mess.”

“No, I don’t.”

After a brief hesitation, the boy took her hand and gave it a tentative shake. “Hey, I’m Sam and this is-”

Bobby saw it solidify in Karen’s eyes the exact same moment it ripped into Bobby’s heart.

“Dean. Oh, sweetie.”

The words were little more than a gasp on Karen’s lips. She reached her arms out to him, but he scrambled away, nearly tripping over his own feet in an effort to avoid the physical contact.

Bobby could visibly see Karen’s heart shatter and he moved to stand beside her. He put a hand on her shoulder, recognizing the pain of guilt in her glistening eyes.

~~~

 _February 5th, 1985 – Singer’s Salvage Yard - Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

A pristinely kept Impala pulled into the lot and a gruff man full of impatience stepped out, slamming the door behind him. It was a bitterly brisk morning and the man jammed his hands into his pockets, giving Bobby a grunt by way of greeting.

Bobby was in the business of selling car parts, not judging. He ran an honest business, but dealt with all sorts, knew all types – plenty who he’d never let anywhere near Karen, who was too good of a soul to see the bad in anyone.

This man wasn’t the typical kind to put Bobby on edge, but there was something off about him that did immediately ruffle Bobby’s feathers. Bobby took a cue from the man and grunted in reply and got straight to business until he caught sight of a boy slipping out of the back of the car.

The little tike couldn’t have been more than five or six and had a smaller one, barely on his own feet, in tow. Bobby’s heart damn near melted as he saw the big eyes on the boy and the careful way he helped his brother around the yard. The older boy shivered and instead of pulling his own coat tighter, made sure the little one was zipped up.

“I need some engine parts,” the man said without a glance to the kids. “You got anything for a ’67?”

“Might. Looking’s gonna take a bit,” Bobby replied. “This ain’t no place for kids to be wandering around and they’ll catch a chill out here. You all wanna head over to the house while I dig around?”

“I’ll stay with the car, thanks.” There wasn’t anything but mistrust in the man’s voice. He finally looked at the kids and gave the older one a sharp nod. “Dean, you take Sammy inside. Keep an eye out.”

The boy silently nodded and led his little brother across the light dusting of snow on the lawn. They stopped for a moment to play with the snowflakes and the man beside Bobby shifted impatiently.

“Stay on the walkway and don’t let your brother get frostbite.”

Dean scurried to pull his waddling brother off the grass. The boy shrugged off his jacket and pulled it on over the one the little fellow was already wearing. Bobby looked to their father, expecting a protest, but John seemed satisfied until Dean glanced back for confirmation that he’d done right.

The man just shooed him away. “Go on. Get your brother inside.”

At the barked order, Dean hustled his little brother up the steps.

“Oh, they’re fine,” Bobby grumbled.

“They’re not any of your business.”

As true as it might be, the man’s tone made Bobby bristle.

He and Karen had been trying for kids with no luck. They’d gotten so far as talking about adopting. There wasn’t a thing either of them wouldn’t give for two boys so beautiful as the ones this man apparently didn’t have the time to bother with.

Never had he seen such well-behaved boys and it broke his heart how quiet they both were. The older one didn’t seem much like a kid at all. There was too much seriousness in him and years in his eyes that just shouldn’t be there on one so young.

Bobby was still looking after them when the man grunted again. “We’re on a schedule. Maybe we could move this along?”

The man had introduced himself as John Winchester and had made it clear that was more than he wanted to say about himself. Real quick Bobby got that John wasn’t interested in talking aside from standing around making snide commentary, brimming with impatience on the edge of growling. As Bobby worked, he glanced towards the house and prayed that this was those boys’ father on a bad day, not him minding his mood like it seemed.

Despite how much John was annoying him, Bobby went slow with the search to give Karen time with the kids. She had to be in heaven in there. It would be a real hard thing, convincing her to let them leave.

When he finally brought the father in to retrieve them, the boys were sitting at the table eating a slice of Karen’s damn near world famous cherry pie. Sammy was balanced on Dean’s lap and wearing a huge grin while Karen told him how adorable he was. Through it all, Dean stayed silent with the saddest eyes Bobby had ever seen.

Every alarm bell in his head started ringing when that sadness shifted to fear. Bobby looked over his shoulder to see John standing behind him with his eyes narrowed on the boy.

Dean quickly lowered Sammy back to the ground and jumped off the chair. He looked to be standing to attention before Karen snatched him up. She’d crouched down to wrap her arms around both the boys.

Sammy instantly hugged her back, hanging on her like a monkey, while Dean looked ready to run. After a second, Dean also clutched her back with a hold that was nothing short of desperate. His painfully expressive eyes brimmed with tears.

Bobby wanted to hug the boy himself and had to bite his tongue to keep from tearing into John just on principle that he was obviously a lousy bastard of a father.

The truth was, Bobby didn’t know for a fact that John was anything less than a decent man that had fallen on hard times. Looking at the boys, it was clear enough that they no longer had a mother to speak of and Bobby didn’t want to think what kind of man he might become without Karen.

“Move it, Dean,” John said.

Bobby did his damndest to ignore the fact that the words sounded like a warning, all the more so because the boy seemed to take them as such. Dean pulled away instantly, dragging Sammy along with him.

“You take care now, boys,” Karen said. She tried to smile, but her eyes were glistening as much as Dean’s.

John grabbed Dean’s arm when the boy apparently didn’t move fast enough for his liking, jerking him out the door. Karen crossed her arms over her apron and looked to Bobby the moment the door slammed shut.

It wasn’t like Karen to say one bad word of anyone, but he could tell she was seconds away from giving John an earful. Bobby had to grasp her arm to keep her from running out after them.

“I don’t know about those boys, Bobby,” she told him quietly.

“It ain’t our place to be meddling.”

They stood together and watched the man lead the kids down the walkway. Karen gasped sharply beside Bobby when John reached down and, for no damn good reason, held Dean by the arm to swat his rear hard enough that the kid’s feet were left dangling off the ground.

Everything about the action got Bobby’s blood boiling. It seemed too normal of a thing for the Winchesters. Little Sammy didn’t even take notice and Dean didn’t so much as rub his sore bottom.

Bobby got parents griping at their kids and even handing out the occasional butt warming. Bobby wasn’t under any delusions that parenthood was some walk in the park. He’d been a boy himself once, and a damn obnoxious one at that.

Boys could be the worst kind of idjits, but these boys weren’t doing a thing outside of walking on eggshells to keep that man happy.

God knew there wasn’t anything Bobby would rather do than have it out with John, but they weren’t Karen and his kids. Not that he wasn’t wishing like hell that they were.

He wandered over to the sink and had started washing his hands when Karen called out to him. For a second, he thought she was about to get on his case about washing his grimy hands in the kitchen sink, but then the panic in her tone registered.

Bobby didn’t shut off the water before hustling to find her peering through the lacy curtains of the side window. Her hand reached for his arm and there was horror written clearly over her face.

“He just threw Dean on the car.”

Karen wasn’t prone to exaggeration about most things and was a very levelheaded woman, but that all changed whenever kids were involved.

He leaned beside her to look at what he really didn’t want to see. Sure enough, Dean was laid over the trunk, bottom up and bared. John obviously thought they were out of sight, not accounting for the hole in the fence that Karen had been on Bobby’s case about fixing.

Bobby gritted his teeth. Even if it weren’t deserved, they couldn’t damn well call the sheriff on account of a man spanking his son. But Bobby sure as hell didn’t have to let it happen in his own property.

The only thing that stopped him from running out with a few choice words on his tongue was that John wasn’t actually spanking the boy. Bobby wasn’t exactly sure what the man was doing leaving Dean on the frozen car with no jacket, his pants down around his ankles, and the snow again falling on him.

John’s back was to the kid and he seemed to be looking around like he’d dropped something. When he stood back up he had something long and thin in his hand. It was obviously metal by the way it caught the light.

With a firm whack, John brought the thing down on the little boy’s backside.

For a split second Bobby was frozen in shocked horror, not just at the senseless brutality of the whipping, but by the fact that Dean didn’t cry out. He didn’t so much as squirm outside of the kneejerk kicks the strokes pulled from him. The little boy just flattened his tiny palms over the trunk of the car and tried to hold still as the bastard laid into him.

It was the last conscious thought Bobby managed before he’d been out the door with Karen calling after him. The urgency in her voice likely had something to do with the double barrel he’d grabbed on the way out.

Bobby was heading across the yard, intent on blood, with the gun cocked and loaded. When John saw him, the man yanked the boy off the trunk and hurled him into the back seat.

John was in the driver’s seat, tires peeling out of the lot before Bobby had the chance to tighten his finger around the trigger.

~~~

 _June 1, 2001 - Singer’s Salvage Yard - Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

Karen had taken the boys inside for a snack. Bobby wasn’t sure that it was the best idea in the world, but guilt trumped commonsense in this case.

Those two had Bobby uneasy and protective all in one swoop. He was leaning more towards uneasy when he popped the trunk to check the taillight. It looked like it had been torn out from the inside.

There was a collection of gasoline cans and bags of salt in the back. There was also strange tearing in the trunk’s carpet and he was trying to figure what the boys might have been digging for with those shovels when he found the false floor.

Snooping through cars wasn’t his usual way of going about a repair, but there wasn’t anything normal going on here.

He popped open the second trunk lid and stared for a long moment before taking a step back. The trunk was filled to the brim with every type of weapon available. There were bottles of lighter fluid, machetes, hand guns, shot guns, knives and a mismatch of religious icons. Grade A psycho.

The boys carrying this cargo were in his house with his wife.

~~~

Dean had realized that he’d screwed up by coming here the moment he’d put the car into park and seen the old mechanic coming their way. He’d nearly driven right back out of the lot, but couldn’t manage it without having to come up with an explanation for Sammy.

He didn’t need to make things worse when Sammy was already mad about him screwing up the last hunt.

The demon had woken up while Dean was in the house. If Dad had been there to block it, everything would have been fine. But Dad was ashes, Sammy refused to hunt with him anymore and Dean was finding new and interesting ways to fuck everything up.

The demon had escaped and if Dad were still around, Dean would still be paying for it. He should be.

It had taken almost half an hour to track the demon through the woods. Sammy had come with him for that, but had spent most of the time trying to talk Dean into abandoning the hunt.

He’d almost punched Sammy again. Dean had gone so far as cocking his arm, but he was slowly getting better about thinking before he punched. With Sammy’s help, maybe he could live with the demon. The problem was that Sammy only wanted to help sometimes.

Dean had saved his rage for the demon they were hunting and had beaten the hell out of it before Sammy stepped in. Sammy had delayed the kill long enough that the only option had been to gag the thing and throw it in the trunk. There’d been too many sirens in the area to just finish it there.

The son of a bitch had spent the ride out of town trashing the Impala’s driver side taillight assembly and slicing up the carpet with a knife that Dean must have been too lazy to properly put away.

When he’d opened the trunk, he’d nearly ended up with that knife buried in his stomach. Sammy had taken the Colt away so Dean had to snap the demon’s neck.

He couldn’t figure out why his brother was setting him up to fail. Maybe it was a test.

Dad had tested him all the time, but Dean had known when he’d failed those tests. Now Dean wasn’t sure where he stood because Sammy had gone ballistic last night, but he hadn’t laid a hand on Dean.

Nothing made sense anymore.

All he’d wanted coming here was a new taillight. Dad would tear him a new one if he saw what Dean had let the demon do to the car.

Dean had come here because he’d already known that the Singers weren’t demons. Dad had them listed as a safe contact in his journal and Dean had gotten a memorable enough beating for nearly turning them. It would be safe for Sammy and the place looked like it would have what they needed.

He’d been a little kid last time he was here. There was no way these people could honestly remember him, even though he’d never forgotten them.

He hadn’t only come here for the parts. Dean had needed to see if Mrs. Singer was still alive.

Dad had told him that she would die because of him. He’d touched her. There was a chance that she was a demon now - that he had infected her, but she didn’t look any different than he remembered. That relief was dampened by the knowledge that his coming back here could still get her killed.

So Sammy’s brilliant plan was to drag Dean into the house with her. It was another one of Sammy’s adventures in normal. Dean would do anything for Sammy, but if his brother kept taking him around civilians then innocent people were going to start dying.

The house was every bit as warm and inviting as he’d remembered. The paint was fresh and there was a large garden off to the side with flowers coming up everywhere. Inside, it was bright and clean with vases of cut flowers and a colorful quilt laid over the couch.

The house smelled like Mom. He could almost see her standing in the kitchen.

Dean wanted to be anywhere but here at the same time that he never wanted to leave. He didn’t deserve to be here and he should get as far from Mrs. Singer as he could.

Sammy must have picked up on his tension and wrapped an arm around him. Dean pressed against his brother and watched from the kitchen’s entrance while Mrs. Singer busily moved around.

She took a couple of plates over to the table and smiled at them, waving them over. “Well, don’t just stand there, have a seat.”

His brother looked to him for confirmation that it was safe. Dean gave a nod and pulled out a chair for Sammy, taking the one directly next to his brother.

Mrs. Singer came over with a pie in her arms. She set it on the table in front of them with a slicer. Dean hadn’t eaten pie since the last time he’d been here. He could barely look at one.

“Do you want some lemonade?” Mrs. Singer asked

“Uh…I guess. Sure, that’d be great,” Sammy said. “Dean wants one too.”

Dean shot a glare towards his brother. He had never had lemonade and he doubted he was supposed to drink it.

When he looked at his brother, he realized how confused Sammy looked by all this. Because of Dean, Sammy had never had a mother. His brother had never known a home and Mrs. Singer had no idea what kind of monster she’d just invited into hers.

~~~

Bobby left the car and ran for the house. He shoved open the front door, hard enough to fling it back against the wall. His breaths were coming in heavy pants by the time he stumbled around the corner to the kitchen.

The boys were sitting side by side at the table eating pie.

It was all but a mirror image of what they had been sixteen years ago when Bobby had dragged in their monster of a father. It was also far from the crime scene he’d imagined walking in on.

Even knowing what they were packing, the boys didn’t look any more threatening than they had when they’d first drove in. Sam looked to be cautiously observing, but Dean was nothing short of terrified. The boy threw down his fork and scrambled from his chair as he sent Bobby a look every bit as scared as the one Bobby had seen the boy send his father.

Bobby had never wanted to see anyone look at him with that kind of fear, least of all this boy.

Karen’s hands rested disapprovingly on her hips. “Is the house on fire?” Karen asked him.

It wasn’t any surprise to see her defiant at the prospect of him snatching the boys away so soon. Bobby cleared his throat and tried to look calm while all eyes were on him.

“I just need to talk to the boys about the car. I’m not sure this tail lamp is what you’re looking for.”

The boys exchanged looks with each other, seeming to have a silent conversation before they both stood at nearly the same moment. He watched them carefully, not sure that he shouldn’t be calling Sheriff Mills, but neither of the Winchesters reached for a weapon.

Bobby kept between them and Karen until they were outside, where he took the lead. Both of them followed him without a word. When he glanced back, he saw that Sam’s hand was rubbing Dean’s shoulder and they were leaned into each other.

Both went pale when they saw the open trunk.

“Now it ain’t none of my business,” Bobby said as he pushed around a few of the items, “but you boys can either explain real quick what all this is or just move on out of here. I won’t give you any trouble.”

Dean separated from Sam. It looked odd seeing them more than two inches from each other. The kid looked like he was walking to the gallows and his little brother looked truly panicked for the first time since coming here.

“Dean, don’t,” Sam said.

Warily, Bobby watched Dean walk around to the front of the car. When he reached to his waistline, Dean didn’t pull out a gun. The kid unbuckled his belt. Dean pushed down his pants and apparently didn’t wear anything beneath the worn jeans.

Bobby could’ve broken down there and then when he looked down to see that he’d laid a large strop over the back of the trunk while he’d been digging through the things. It obviously wasn’t only used for sharpening the knife collection. Bobby flipped it back into the trunk.

This was worse than nearly any nightmare that he’d ever had about this boy, and he’d had a damn lot of them. Dean was just standing there waiting for a near stranger to beat him - waiting for Bobby to beat him.

He could never forget this boy, barely knee high, pinned over the back of this same car. Bigger palms were now outstretched, steadying against the metal. Every line of the boy’s body was rigid.

Bobby stepped forward and couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, even though the kid looked ready to shatter. His hand set over the boy’s back, feeling the tremors beneath his palm.

“Come on kid, keep your pants on. ‘Talking’ ain’t a code word for whipping around here.”

The boy seemed disbelieving, only shaking his head and accentuating his posture. In the bright sun, Bobby caught sight of the white lines of scars and an assortment of fresh bruises that covered Dean’s exposed skin.

Each and every one was evidence of a blow that Bobby could’ve stopped.

“Dean, come on.” Sam stepped in between Bobby and his brother. The kid pulled up Dean’s jeans and sent a grateful look towards Bobby as he zipped up the pants.

The last thing Bobby needed was the boy thanking him for not beating his brother. “You boys get a lot of beatings from random strangers?”

“Dean does...used to,” Sam quickly corrected.

The only thing worse than hearing Sam say that was that Karen had seen the whole damn exchange and was running across the lawn in a panic. “Bobby, what on earth are you doing to these boys?”

“Just a misunderstanding.” Dean’s freckled cheeks were already flushed without going into it. “Just asking about their cargo.”

“Since when are you port security?” Karen asked. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for...” Her voice trailed off as she saw the trunk’s contents. “For their lovely knife collection. Boys should have hobbies.”

“Our Dad was a weapons collector,” Sam confirmed.

 _Was._

Given that the weapons were still in the trunk, Bobby knew the collection wasn’t the past tense. He ought to feel guilty for being glad to hear about the passing of the boys’ father, but by the look he’d gotten of Dean’s backside, John’s death hadn’t come soon enough.

“Where are you boys staying?” Karen asked.

Bobby knew full well where that loaded question was leading. He’d warn her off from it if he wasn’t already thinking the same thing himself.

Sam shrugged almost like he thought it a peculiar question. “We’re usually on the road.”

“You don’t have a home?”

The boy looked honestly perplexed at that and reached for his brother. It was clearly enough an answer, Sam thinking he had all the home he needed. “We got the car.”

“You boys on the run?” Bobby asked as he closed the trunk. “John didn’t get you wrapped up in any kind of trouble, did he?”

Dean’s eyes hardened while Sam’s head snapped between Bobby and his brother’s. “You knew our Dad?”

“Met him.” Bobby fixed his eyes on Dean, who turned his head away. His eyes then moved to Sam. “No offense kid, but if I’d had it my way, your Daddy would’ve been loaded with buckshot years ago.”

Bobby probably deserved the fist that busted into his jaw. His head snapped back and he stumbled to the side, just catching himself against the side of a car, while hearing Sam call out his brother’s name.

By the time Bobby was again seeing straight, Sam had tackled Dean, shoving him forward over the Impala. Bobby held a hand to his throbbing jaw, his heart sinking as he watched Sam lay down several hard blows with his hand over Dean’s denim covered rear.

He began to wonder just how long ago John had died and how many of those bruises Sam had put on Dean. It was every kind of wrong from beginning to end.

It also wasn’t what Bobby had initially taken it for. He’d seen John whack Dean and there hadn’t been an ounce of care in it. As soon as Sam had finished, he had Dean pulled up with his arms wrapped around him. The boy was near tears as he hugged his brother before letting him go.

“Get in the car, Dean.”

It was John’s sharp order, but Sam didn’t shove Dean in. He opened the door for him and made sure he ducked his head. Bobby couldn’t help but notice that Dean almost looked to be in a trance, his eyes blankly staring off.

Sam closed the door behind Dean before turning back to Bobby. “I’m sorry. I’ll take care of it.”

The kid would’ve likely been in the car and gone before Bobby could have blinked if Karen hadn’t rushed forward to pull the kid into her arms.

Sam didn’t seem to know how to respond but slowly moved to return the hug. By Karen’s magic, it was only seconds before the distance in the boy’s eyes melted and the giant of the kid was wrapped around her. The boy shook against Karen’s shoulder as she ran her hand through his hair with all the love as if he’d been hers all along.

“Please stay,” she whispered to him.

Sam looked back to the car. His eyes were loaded with a mix of reluctance and indecisiveness. “I don’t think we should.”

Bobby wrapped his arm around Karen’s waist and fixed his eyes on Sam. “You do what you gotta,” Bobby told the kid. He could barely force the words from his throat. “But you don’t let anyone else lay a hand on your brother. That’s not okay.”

The boy thought too long on the statement for it to not be a revelation. Sam wiped at his cheeks. “I won’t.”

“Your new taillight’s in the trunk. Try to stay out of trouble.” Bobby held a business card out to the boy. “And if you boys ever need anything you come back this way or give a call, you got it?”

It was no easier listening to the fading rumble of the engine the second time around.

~~~

 _June 1, 2001 – Sioux City, South Dakota_

Sam had whipped Dean a few miles down the road from Singer’s Salvage.

The other night, Sam had watched his brother snap a man’s neck without a second thought. His brother easily could have killed Bobby in the time it had taken for him to throw that single punch.

Sam was still mostly sure that Dad had been crazy and he didn’t forgive a single moment of the pain that Dad had caused Dean, but he was starting to get why Dad had been afraid. Dean was dangerous, lethal, without meaning to be. Sam had always known that, but it was a different thing when it was on him to control it.

That still didn’t mean that Sam thought indiscriminately beating his brother was going to help anything. It still didn’t make it any more bearable to listen to Dean’s tirade about how much Dad had done for him.

From what Sam understood, Bobby had only met their father once and had hated him at first sight. Everyone knew that Dad had been a sadistic jerk. At least everyone aside from Dean did.

Today had turned everything on its head. It felt like it had the night that Sam had first read Dad’s journal.

It wasn’t what Dean had done - which was scary, but not new. It was the realization that Maria Carter hadn’t been a fluke. The Singers were also nice, happy people and they wanted to save his brother. There were people out there who knew Dean and had tried to stop Dad. There were people who knew that Dean wasn’t evil and that he didn’t deserve to be hurt.

All Sam had ever known was a world that was out to get them. Now he didn’t know what to believe.

While Sam was hit with the first real sense of hope that he’d felt in a long time - maybe ever - Dean was bordering on hysterical. He’d given up on the belt and was walking around the room with the strop.

“You know I need this. You did it this afternoon,” Dean said.

“Because you punched Bobby.” Sam sighed and sat back in the room’s chair as he watched his brother. “You were upset about Dad. That’s normal, Dean. It was a mistake, not an attack. You just need to be more careful.”

“I could have killed her.... I could’ve killed them both.” Dean kept pacing like a caged tiger. “I’ll kill them all!”

“No, you won’t.”

He couldn’t take any more of watching Dean work himself up. He crossed the room to join Dean, but his brother was too far gone to see him. Sam’s hand barely brushed Dean’s shoulder before his brother swung around, swinging the strop.

Sam just dodged back far enough to avoid the swoosh of heavy leather. He stepped forward to try to take the thing away from Dean, but stopped when he saw his brother’s face.

From his voice, Sam had thought Dean was angry, but there were tears, not rage, in his brother’s eyes. His brother was scared and remembering things that Sam had never known.

Sam took a step back. “Is that what Mom was like? Like Karen?”

Dean deflated before Sam’s eyes and turned away. “It’s winning. Sammy, please. You know Dad was right about this, you always did it.”

“I never did it because I thought Dad was right. I did it for you, Dean, because it was important to you. But it went too far a long time ago. I think Dad was wrong.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

It was true, but he was getting closer to figuring it out from his research. He was just missing some of the details about their own lives. “I need to know what happened to Mom.”

“You take care of this then maybe we’ll talk.”

“You tell me then maybe I’ll do it,” Sam countered. “I’ll do it if you really need it. God, Dean, I’d do anything for you. I just need to be sure.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I read Dad’s journal.”

Dean dropped his head and tossed the strop onto the bed beside Sam. “Then you already know.”

“It said a demon did a blood spell on you and then you shot Mom.”

“Yeah, that’s what Dad said.”

“You don’t remember?”

Dean wrapped his arms around himself and stood with his back to Sam. “Sure I do. I just...I was a kid, what do you expect?”

“Nothing, Dean, but you don’t remember the spell?” The blank mask on Dean’s face when he turned around was answer enough. “If you don’t remember the spell, how could you say it to someone else?”

Dean looked flustered before digging out some crap logic that would have made Dad proud. “Well, obviously the demon knows it.”

“We’ve always been together and I’ve never heard the demon speak. It’s always been you, right?”

His brother was suddenly busy staring at his feet. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So if you said ‘hi’ to Karen and Bobby, what would happen?”

“I don’t know, Sammy, and I’m not gonna go around risking innocent lives to find out.”

“You talk to me.”

“I think it’s different.” Dean looked ready to punch something before walking a circle. “How am I supposed to fucking know?” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck then nodded to the strop. “You’re really not gonna do that?”

“I can’t do it anymore, Dean. I hate it. I hate that you’ve given me everything and all I’ve ever done is hurt you.”

There was a flash of defeat in Dean’s eyes and then he seemed to nod to himself. “Yeah, okay.” He shifted before looking back to Sam. “You’ve never hurt me. You’re all I got and I get it. If it was you...I won’t ask anymore. And I’ll think about it - you know the talking thing.”

The relief that rushed through Sam was overwhelming. If Dean honestly tried to sleep, if he stopped asking to be beaten for something he hadn’t even done, and he started talking to people then it would mean they might have half a shot at a normal life.

Dean’s attempt to return Sam’s smile fell short, but he’d at least tried. “Super. I just need a few minutes, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Dean slipped into the bathroom. The instant the door shut, Sam flopped back onto the bed. He shoved the strop onto the floor and felt another weight lift. This wasn’t going to be easy, but after a decade of pushing, Dean was finally on board.

Sam wasn’t sure how long he’d laid on the bed basking in Dean’s words before he realized that his brother was still in the shower.

Dean taking a shower that lasted more than a couple minutes was unusual. Actually, Dean deciding to take a shower on his own at all was strange, but if they did this, a lot of things were going to change. It was a lot for his brother to think about too and there weren’t many other excuses to get some time alone.

Sam forced himself to lie back on the bed, releasing another massive sigh of relief.

When Dean came out, he was wearing his jeans. It was a strange sight seeing Dean walking around a room without a shirt but still with his jeans on. Sam could get used to it.

A smile spread over his lips as Dean cuddled into the bed beside him. Sam had expected Dean to be up all night, but soon enough heard his brother’s soft, even breaths against his ear.

For the first time in a long while, Sam was able to really sleep too.


	10. Chapter 10

_June 26, 2001- Harvelle’s Roadhouse_

Ellen pushed past the swinging doors, leaving behind the buzz of conversation in the restaurant. She squeezed past Bill with an arm full of dirty plates and let them clatter down into the sink. Her brow raised and she just managed to hold the “told you so” on the tip of her tongue.

Bill had sworn to high heaven that he’d be able to fix the dishwasher, but here they were in the middle of dinner service with a sink stacked full of dirty plates and Jo out with her friends.

Instead of looking properly chastised, Bill smiled and drew her into a kiss like she’d somehow forget about the heaping stack of dishes behind her.

She whacked him with a dishrag, laughing as she pushed him towards the sink. “Get back to work before I remember how mad I am at you.”

A smart ass grin spread over Bill’s lips. “I’m way too handsome to stay mad at.”

“You ain’t sinks worth of dirty dishes handsome.”

“Oh, you know I am,” Bill called after her.

Ellen shook her head as she used her hip to push the kitchen doors back open and head on out with an arm full of dinners. She’d just set the last one down for a table of tourists before one of her regulars waved her over.

She glanced around and headed over to the bar, propping herself up against it with her elbow. “What’s going on, Jason?”

“Just though you might want to know that you got a couple of out of towners here working the place,” he said in a low voice.

She followed his eyes to a shaggy haired, oversized kid playing the pool tables. “Tommy and Rob are big boys. What they do with their money, it ain’t any business of mine. They’d be a hell of a lot easier to live with if that kid took their egos down a few notches.”

“I hear you, I’m rooting for the kid, but I mean there’s one that slipped out back. Was propositioning one of the guys, if you know what I mean.”

Ellen’s eyes shifted to the door behind the tables and she gave an agitated sigh. “I swear, some nights...”

“You want me to take care of it?”

“Yeah, that’s just what I need right now.” She gave him a friendly pat on the back and shoved off the bar. “I got it. Thanks.”

She weaved easily through the crowd, staying on alert as she pushed open the backdoor. It didn’t take much searching of the shadows. She could damn well easily enough hear the moans. There was a boy on his knees with way more of Harry than she’d ever wanted to see in his mouth.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Ellen groaned. “Boys, do me a favor and get a damn room before I have the cops get one for you.”

It was no great surprise when Harry stood there with a stupid look on his face. The boy remained still on his knees. She was about to find something to throw at the lovebirds when she caught a glimpse of the fear in the boy’s eyes.

“He giving you some trouble?” she asked him.

The kid seemed to consider the question then shook his head, but she crossed her arms over her chest. “Harry, you just get gone already.”

“I ain’t even half done. Give me my money back, kid.”

The boy’s eyes were still nervously on Ellen when Harry grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and started digging in his pocket. In a flash of motion nearly too fast to be seen, the boy was up, had grabbed Harry and was slamming him to the ground.

“Hey, what’re you doing?”

It was another boy shouting from the doorway behind Ellen. She just barely managed to scramble out of the way before he plowed her over. He ran forward to throw his arms around the boy on top of Harry and dragged him off.

Harry shook his head, swiping the blood from his nose while the tall kid who had rushed out looked undecided about whether or not he was also going to take a swing at him.

As he stumbled to his feet, Harry held up his hands in surrender. “I just want my refund.”

Ellen glared at him when she realized that Harry was seriously expecting her to get it for him. “We don’t offer cash back guarantees on illicit sexually activity. Just get. And you two...” she continued as she swung around on the kids, “I can’t have that around here. We run a respectable establishment.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” the smaller one said.

“What did you say to me?”

He instantly dropped his eyes at her question. She’d expected a lot of trouble to come out of the boy’s mouth, but she sure as hell didn’t expect the shyly quiet and earnestly apologetic response she got.

There was a careful protectiveness as the taller one ran his hand over the back of the other one. “You did good, Dean,” he said quietly.

They leaned into each other as she looked them over. She took in their uneasiness, the tattered jeans and the worn edges of their shirts. They couldn’t be much older than Jo.

“How pressed are you two for cash?” They exchanged a look, but didn’t seem to understand. “Can either of you manage some honest work?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the taller one quickly answered.

“Ellen. Just call me Ellen.”

“Sam. And this is my brother, Dean.”

“Your brother?”

She couldn’t help but keep the surprise from her voice as she watched them cling to each other. As long as they could wash dishes, it wasn’t any business of hers what their actual relation was.

“We’re down a man and a dishwasher,” she explained as she led them back in through the restaurant and ushered them through the kitchen door. “Hey, Bill, found you some help.”

The boys stayed on the defensive, but Sam at least made an effort of seeming friendly. Dean didn’t seem all that unfriendly. He just looked scared. Something wasn’t right about them, but she’d had worse excuses for help in this kitchen.

Her instincts hadn’t been wrong. Come the end of the night, the boys had proven themselves to be the hardest workers she’d ever had step foot in this restaurant. It was a shame Jo hadn’t been around to see how much could get done when someone was actually doing what they were told.

“Where you two sleeping tonight?” Ellen asked as she closed up. Again, they exchanged a look. “It’s not a trick question, boys.”

“We’re just across the street,” Sam said.

Ellen put a hand on her hip. “There ain’t nothing across the street but a dirt lot. You boys aren’t sleeping in your car, now are you?”

“Uh...yeah, we are.”

She’d felt guilty putting them on the spot, but there wasn’t an ounce of shame in his tone. If anything, he just sounded confused that she was asking.

“Not tonight you aren’t. We got a room upstairs.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Consider it your health plan. The alarm is going to be on down here so don’t you be getting any ideas. There’s only one bed up there, I’ll see if we can wrangle you up a cot.”

“We only need one bed,” Sam assured her.

Dean seemed to agree and Ellen shrugged. “Suit yourselves. The sheets are clean as they get around here.”

“I won’t get them dirty,” Dean said.

Ellen raised her brow. The boy seemed sincere and it was only the second thing he’d said all night, so she gave him a nod. “That’d be appreciated. Just give a call if you need anything.”

Sam slipped his arm around Dean, whispering something in his ear as they headed up the stairs.

Bill tilted his head as he leaned in to her. “I thought you said they were brothers.”

~~~

Not only had they both just worked their first honest night of their life, but they actually had a decent place to stay.

It didn’t have the funny smell of most the motels they had grown up in. More than anything, Sam liked that there was an alarm downstairs. He’d caught Dean a handful of times sneaking out over the last week.

At least here Sam could sleep without worrying that he might wake up alone.

He wasn’t sure where Dean had been going, though he was decently sure of what he’d walked out on tonight. So much for Dean’s assurance that there’d be no more prostitution.

Sam wasn’t actually surprised that Dean hadn’t been able to quit cold turkey. It had been too much a part of his life for too long. That was why they had talked about the consequences ahead of time.

His brother had always been skittish about doing things that weren’t explicitly within Dad’s orders. When Dean had told him that he didn’t even know when he was doing the right thing, Sam realized that part of that was Sam’s own fault.

Sam had enforced maybe a third of the rules that Dad had, but he’d never actually told Dean which ones. He’d just assumed that Dean had known, even though there was no way he could have, because even Sam’s enforcement had been variable depending on his mood.

Some times he’d been too tired to bother and other times he’d been at the end of his rope about something that had nothing to do with Dean. There’d been no way for Dean to know that he’d done something wrong until someone had been asking for a belt.

Now that they’d laid everything out, neither of them had anymore excuses.

Things had almost been good lately. Dean was actually sleeping through most nights like he’d used to under Dad’s routine. He was less edgy and, for the most part, had stopped talking about the demon.

Dean still dosed himself with the salt and holy water, more than usual, and still wouldn’t eat dinner. Sam wasn’t sure how to address it without setting things back, but they were still making progress. His brother was even starting to talk though Sam was quickly realizing that it was as much a problem that Dean didn’t know what to say.

Sam settled down on the edge of the bed, more than a little surprised that Dean hadn’t undressed yet. He had to realize that Sam knew what he’d been doing out back.

“We talked about the prostitution,” Sam said. “You said you were going to stop.”

Dean remained standing with his hands awkwardly twitching at his side. “I know.”

“So what happened?”

Dean shrugged. “We need the money and that little douchebag wasn’t gonna hurt me.”

“If we agree on something, it’s not just until it’s inconvenient. The rule is no prostitution. Even if you don’t want to learn how to play pool, we can work in the kitchen here until we can get enough to go wherever you want.”

His brother was still standing back and Sam’s stomach flip flopped when he had to hold his hand out to silently ask for the belt.

Sam’s brow furrowed as Dean’s eyes darted around the room like he was looking for an escape. He couldn’t figure out what his brother was doing as he watched Dean stiffly unzip his pants, slide the belt from its loops and doubled it over before handing it to Sam.

“Can I leave my pants on?” Dean asked.

Panic settled over Sam as he remembered what he’d found when Dean had asked to leave underwear on. There was no way that Dean wasn’t trying to hide something beneath those jeans. The belt slid from Sam’s hands as he stood up and walked towards Dean.

“No, take them off.”

Dean took a step back. “I thought you didn’t wanna whip me anymore.”

“I don’t. I never want to, but this is what we agreed on – it’s what you asked for. You gotta make up your mind, Dean.”

“I fell,” Dean said.

“What?”

“The other day I fell down and scraped up my ass.”

“Through your jeans?”

Dean gave a shrug. “I just don’t want you freaking out.”

“Take off your pants, Dean.”

His brother seemed to surrender to the fact that there was no where to run and finally let his jeans fall to the floor. Sam grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. Dean’s skin was peppered with more than just fresh bruises, but harsh welts and partially healed cuts.

Sam hadn’t whipped Dean since Sioux Falls, two week ago, and he sure as hell hadn’t left any long term marks.

“Who did this?”

He already knew. There was too much variation in the stages of healing. He and Dean hadn’t been in one place long enough for anyone but Dean to have done it all.

“I took care of it.”

When Dean tried to pull away, Sam just gripped him tighter. “Did you use the damn buckle?”

Dean didn’t deny it. Sam bit his lip as tears began to sting the corner of his eyes. “Take off your shirt.”

His brother had fallen silent and didn’t hesitate to comply. The same brutal marks littered Dean’s torso. Sam didn’t want to think about how hard Dean would have had to hit himself to leave the impressions.

Sam ran a shaky hand over the freshest ones that had to have been done while Dean had snuck out last night. “Why would you do this?”

“Someone had to and when you said you didn’t like it...” Dean let out a heavy breath before meeting Sam’s eyes. “I didn’t want it to have to be you anymore.”

The words were so earnest that Sam had to go back over to the bed before his legs gave out. He ran his hands over his face. “You shouldn’t have done that, Dean.”

“I’m sorry.” Dean looked away and Sam knew it wasn’t because Dean thought he’d done anything wrong. He was only sorry he’d upset Sam.

Sam didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t spank Dean for beating himself. He couldn’t do anything but take his brother into his arms.

~~~

 _June 30, 2001- Harvelle’s Roadhouse_

Jo wiped the last of the spilt liquor and peanut shells from the bar’s counter before tossing the rag into the bin. Sam and Dean had already gone upstairs for the night and Jo couldn’t help but focus her eyes in that direction.

All they ever got here were tourists and families and the predictable locals. Usually she could turn the head of any guy that walked through the doors. She could string them along for anything she wanted with an innocent twirl of her hair.

It would only figure that the two hottest guys on the planet had walked through those doors and wouldn’t even look at her.

Sam and Dean were basically living here now and still wouldn’t so much as give her the time of day. Even when she would step right into Dean’s line of sight, he would just look the opposite way. It wasn’t as if she’d be jumping into his bed even if he was looking. She had her self respect, but she also didn’t like being ignored.

Now it was a challenge.

Mom swore they were brothers, but Jo saw the way they clung to each other, and if she had a brother looking at her like that she would’ve cut off a few of his more sensitive parts and needed a lifetime of therapy. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that this could be a strip joint and the only way Sam or Dean would be looking was if she was a Chippendale dancer.

It was still weird. Nebraska wasn’t exactly the center of the gay universe so the only gay guys she’d seen were on television. Neither Sam nor Dean reminded her anything of that.

Their clothes were almost scruffy and the way they moved, especially Dean, was more understated than anyone she’d ever seen. It almost hurt how hard Dean tried not to be noticed. She couldn’t believe they were just brothers or just a couple.

She was going to figure them out. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

Sam almost seemed normal sometimes. It was like he was good at pretending that he was, but the longer he talked the less normal he seemed. Dean just didn’t talk much. Her parents told her to leave it alone, because it was probably something all sensitive that would just make them feel bad if she brought it up.

They thought Dean was hard of hearing or mentally disabled, but he seemed to hear what people told him to do and since he was always looking down he couldn’t be reading their lips. She didn’t know about the mental thing or why she couldn’t just leave him alone.

Maybe it was the silence or his sad eyes or just the fact that he was hot as hell. She wondered what his voice would sound like, what thoughts lay behind those pained green eyes.

More than that, she wondered why he had stolen a big bag of salt from the kitchen.

She couldn’t claim that her intentions were pure when she walked up the stairs. She stopped just before heading to their room, deciding to get herself together in the bathroom.

Jo hadn’t thought twice about opening the bathroom door. She wasn’t used to checking the upstairs bathroom before going in and normal people locked the door, but she’d figured out the minute that these guys had walked into the bar that they weren’t normal.

Steam billowed out the bathroom door as she pushed it open. She should have shut it and walked away, but she couldn’t pull it closed before she caught a too tantalizing glimpse of skin. It wasn’t just a peek, but a full on view of perfection.

Even at that, she did have shame and would have slammed the door but when she got over the ‘damn that’s hot’, her numb brain moved onto the bruises and cuts that covered the presented backside.

She stood there, mouth parted and unable to move. It was Dean and he turned to face her, standing as if he didn’t even notice he was naked. His expression hadn’t even changed from that same quiet worry he always wore.

Almost as shocking as Dean’s injuries was the fact that his brother stood beside him just as buck naked, but his skin was perfect without any of the signs of the abuse marring Dean’s and, unlike Dean, Sam was scrambling for the towels.

Sam was frazzled as he shoved a towel into Dean’s arms and wrapped the other around his own waist. “Put it on, Dean.”

Dean lowered his head and did like Sam told him. She suddenly realized just how much she’d heard Sam ordering Dean around like he couldn’t make a decision for himself. Her eyes narrowed on Sam.

“What the hell did you do to him?” she asked.

She knew she should get out of there and was suddenly terrified. Jo wanted to kick the crap out of Sam with her steel-toed boots, but she wasn’t an idiot. He was like ten feet tall.

Jo was breathless by the time she surged through the kitchen doors, leaving them banging behind her. There was no hiding the worry in her voice. “Hey, Mom?”

“Jo, honey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Dean.”

Mom dropped what she was doing and stormed across the kitchen. “Did he try to hurt you?”

“What? No! I think Sam’s hurting him.”

~~~

Bill tried not to jump to any conclusions as he stalked up the stairs, but this would explain Dean’s timid silence and the constant looks defaulting to Sam. The boy had seemed to be on eggshells since he had stepped in here.

He knocked on their door and heard hushed whispers before Sam came to answer it. “Mr. Harvelle.”

“We need to talk, Sam.”

“Um, sure. We’ll be right out.”

“Actually, I need to talk to you alone.”

He looked past Sam to see Dean, too much of Dean. The boy was sitting naked on the bed with a towel barely thrown over his lap and his head bowed. Bill could see enough to know that Jo hadn’t been exaggerating.

Sam looked over his shoulder and Dean looked up, shaking his head. “It’s fine, Dean. I’ll be right back. Just stay here.”

They didn’t know how old either of the boys were, but Dean was old enough not to have to be ordered around. He was old enough that he shouldn’t be sitting there looking like a scared kid. Dean settled uneasily on the bed, looking twitchy at just the thought of Sam leaving him in the room alone.

Sam and Bill walked in silence down to the empty bar before Bill gestured for Sam to take a seat. “It must be hard.”

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

“Having to take care of your brother.”

“It’s okay.” Sam easily met Bill’s eyes. There was anything but malice there. “He’s the one that’s always taken care of me.”

“Still, someone with a condition like his, it can be frustrating.”

Sam straightened in the chair and it looked like he was thinking real hard about something. “What do you know about Dean’s...condition?”

“Just what I’ve seen.”

Sam looked down. When his eyes came back up they were desperate. “I think you knew our father.”

The statement was so far out of left field that Bill found himself just staring long and hard at the kid. He didn’t recognize either of the boys and he’d just assumed that they hadn’t had anyone at all. They’d been here for several days now and hadn’t said one word about who they were or where they’d come from.

“Who’s your father?”

“John Winchester. He served with a William Harvelle in the Marines and his journal said that Harvelle owned a restaurant so I thought maybe...”

“Yeah, sure, I knew Winchester. He’s a good man.”

Sam flinched at that statement and a whole new fear settled over him. John had saved Bill’s life back in Vietnam. They’d been drinking buddies for a while until John had met Mary and settled down. He’d seemed like a decent enough guy, but there wasn’t all that much Bill actually knew about him.

“Is John hurting you boys?”

The kids jaw was clenched as he nodded his head. “He’s gone.” Sam’s voice cracked and the kid was quiet for a minute before continuing. “I was just hoping you’d know something about Dean.”

He wasn’t sure what was being asked.

The last Bill had seen John was maybe ten years ago and he hadn’t had any kids with him. When he really thought back on it, everything had been off about John then. He’d looked worn down, almost desperate asking for a favor that Bill hadn’t liked but hadn’t been able to refuse on account of him owing John.

He’d given him an old Colt revolver and tried to ignore the statements about demons that Bill thought were maybe supposed to be funny. Bill had just assumed John was drunk. The man never could hold his liquor.

Bill folded his hands on the table. “What about Dean?”

“About the demon. Did Dad ever saying anything about it?”

One thing was crystal clear with that question – these boys needed more help than he could give. Whatever had happened to John, he’d obviously tried to take the boys down with him. Bill wanted to help, he really did, but this had all the signs of a volatile situation.

Jo was at a very impressionable age and Ellen, she could hold her own with the best of them, but she’d already picked up a soft spot for these boys. He couldn’t risk having them around his family.

“I’m going to make the same suggestion I did to your father. There’s a pastor in Minnesota-”

“Pastor Jim?”

“The one and only. I think he’d be the better man to help you.” Bill pushed back his chair and stood as the guilt already started settling in. The boy’s eyes were so lost. “I really want to thank you and your brother for helping us out, but I think it’s best you boys headed out.”

“What? Why?”

“He needs to protect his family.”

Bill looked over his shoulder at the voice. It was Dean, standing on the far side of the bar. The boy was dressed and already had a bag slung over his shoulder.

~~~

 _July 3, 2001 – Omaha, Nebraska_

They hadn’t made it to Pastor Jim’s before Dean had realized where they were going and vetoed it. Dean had wanted to hit a hunt instead, which Sam had in turn vetoed. That left them sitting in a junky motel room with nothing to do but stare at a blank television screen and think, which never ended well.

Things had gone downhill since leaving the Harvelles.

Dean now used Bill as proof that the demon needed to be isolated. His brother had kept to his word and hadn’t asked Sam to beat him, but the first night here, Sam had found Dean in the bathroom with a rusty hanger.

The second night, Sam had tried staying awake, but he could only do that for so long.

Last night, Sam had tried cuffing Dean to the bed, which had sent Dean into a blind panic and landed Sam with a black eye. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he left Dean there like Dad had threatened to do.

If he did, and nothing happened, he could prove to Dean once and for all that there was no demon. But he wasn’t sure that his brother would ever forgive him and he wasn’t quite ready to risk his brother’s life on that probable truth.

He didn’t know what he was going to do for tonight, but for now, Dean sat naked on the bed, relaxed, legs shamelessly splayed.

Sam was the only one who had ever seen Dean this way. His brother had never been able to undress for a girl. He’d only ever been like this for his family and those who wanted to add to his collection of scars.

Sam knew if Dean had let himself look at Jo, he would have been attracted to her. Dean liked girls every bit as much as Sam did. It was Dad who had liked Dean with guys.

He settled on the bed to sit beside Dean. His brother leaned against him and Sam wrapped his arm around his shoulder. “You ever think about going on a date?”

“Gee, Sammy, I had no idea you were such a hopeless romantic.”

“With a girl.”

The easiness left Dean’s body. “You could...you should.”

“We both could.”

“Yeah, right. Even if I didn’t let her see me with the lights on...” Dean grasped Sam’s hand and puts it to one of his raised scars, the cross on his inner thigh. “How the hell do I explain that? And we’d have to go straight to sex because I can’t talk worth a damn. And, oh, and then the sex would suck ‘cause I’ve never fucked anyone.”

“It doesn’t actually require a manual.”

Dean glared at him. “You know I can’t.”

Dad had always said that even with condoms there was too great of a risk that Dean might get a girl pregnant, which would apparently lead to the rise of the Antichrist or some crap.

Mostly, they didn’t know what bodily fluids evil could be spread by, if demons were like some kind of virus. Dean had always risked his life to fight evil. He would die before spreading it.

“I don’t wanna anyway,” Dean said. “I want you to. Go get a girl...hell, just go. I’d leave my own sorry ass if I could.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

Dean slid down on the bed so he was lying curled up beside Sam. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

Sam rubbed his hand over Dean’s shoulder. He hoped Dean already knew this, but said it anyway. “You’re the world’s most awesome big brother.”

Dean scoffed. “You need to get out more. Seriously.” He rolled so he could look up at Sam. “Its...some random day of the week and you’re sitting in the crappiest motel Omaha has to offer petting your demonic, former whore of a brother.”

He tried to smile.

Even if he wanted to, there was no way that Sam could go out. He had enough trouble watching Dean while he was sleeping right beside him.

~~~

Demons were usually entertaining to track. Not this one.

Gordon swirled the liquid in the glass he’d been milking for the last hour. A man could go broke waiting for this damn demon to make a move. The thing obviously knew it was being watched.

He took another sip only to nearly spit it out when a young man stalked out of the shadows, silent and deadly as a cobra. It wasn’t the lines of his face or the build of his body, all of which had changed since Gordon had last had the pleasure. It was in the predatory movements, the uncertainty mingling with animalistic desire.

The boy wasn’t yet closing in for the kill, but he was marking his prey and it was the same one Gordon had been watching for the last three hours.

Despite every inch of him screaming that he was barely more than an animal, or maybe because of it, two ladies and a guy made their advances. The boy shrugged them all off with scarcely a look. Not a single word left his mouth, nothing broke his focus.

Gordon had more than once brought the stripe of leather and the bite of a willow branch down on that fine ass. John always had been open about disciplining his eldest. Some boys just needed a heavy hand wherever they could get it, especially when those boys were possessed by demons.

A smirk played over his lips as he stood from his seat, stretched his cramped limbs, finished off his drink and let the games begin.

When he closed in, it was like flicking a switch. He just managed to catch the fist that was hurled at him, just managed to wrap his arms around Dean and pull him too close for him to be able to strike.

Gordon breathed heavy against the boy’s ear. “Hey, killer.”

The boy grew all the stiller. John’s training kicked in. Don’t panic. Don’t startle the prey.

To his credit, Dean glanced towards the demon to make sure he remained unaware. Sure enough, the thing just continued to chomp down on buffalo wings and watch the corner television.

“Gordon?”

At the acknowledgement, Gordon edged Dean further into the shadows. He knew he was only getting away with it because Dean was letting him. The boy rubbed his ass back into Gordon, grinding seductively. Gordon didn’t swing that way, but goddamn if he did, he’d be swinging his cock right into that perky, begging ass.

His dick twitched with a vague interest in taking the boy right here. It seemed as if he could because he was holding Dean Winchester pinned and neither John nor little Sammy was coming running to the rescue.

“Since when does the old man leave you off leash?”

There was dullness in Dean’s eyes and a sag of his shoulders that said it all. Gordon let him go, patting his back. “Let me buy you a drink.”

Dean reluctantly sat down across the table from him as their beers were brought out. They both sat so the demon remained in view. Gordon clanked a beer against Dean’s before knocking back a swig.

“You better have a good story to go with John not being here. I’d hate to have to kill you.”

There was a flicker in Dean’s eyes, but mostly disinterest. “He was possessed.”

“Shit. Had to put him down then?”

Dean flinched, but nodded.

“That’s rough. I told that old bastard to be more careful. You didn’t have a choice.”

No sign of that ravenous hunter remained as Dean just looked miserable and wary. What he needed was a good kill. Gordon usually played it solo, but this hunt would go a hell of a lot smoother if he had someone with Dean’s talents on hand.

There were some other matters to get out of the way first, precautions to take.

“So, is Sammy taking care of things for you now?”

Dean looked down at the table. “I’ve been trying to take care of it.”

“Yourself?” Gordon let out a whistle. “And if the demon slips out – who’s got it then?”

“I’ve been trying to warn Sammy.”

Gordon took another drink. “If you’re not careful the only warning your little brother is gonna get is you slitting his throat.” Dean shifted uneasily in his chair. “Just how long as it been since you’ve had a proper exorcism?”

“Not since Dad...a little over a month, I guess.”

“You’re a damn ticking time bomb then. Well, I’ll make you a deal. You catch me this demon,” Gordon said with a nod towards the target. “And I’ll take care of it.”

“You’ll do an exorcism?”

“Full service.” Gordon leaned forward over the table, looking over Dean and then glancing back to the demon they were hunting. “You’re a little old for him, but I’m assuming you still got it?”

“Yeah. I can get him.”

Satisfied, Gordon leaned back in his chair. “So this brother of yours, he just has a death wish?”

“He doesn’t think there is a demon.” Dean’s eyes locked with Gordon’s. “But you’ve seen it, right?”

Gordon thought it was a joke, but Dean’s face was dead serious. “Damn straight, I have. Doesn’t believe in demons...” He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Your brother needs to open his eyes."


	11. Chapter 11

Dean had agreed to lounge around the motel with Sammy mostly because he was too damn tired to do anything else. He’d gone from just being drowsy all the time to feeling like it was too much work to carry his own body up a flight of stairs.

Sammy thought Dean had let his training lapse on account of not needing it anymore, but he hadn’t let it lapse as much as Sammy thought. He’d just switched to doing it at night when Sammy couldn’t see how much it took out of him.

Now he could barely manage it without feeling like his heart was going to explode and like all the oxygen had been sucked from the air. He was starting to black out.

Dean knew he was dying.

It was the demon, drawing away what was left of him. The son of a bitch knew that Dean wouldn’t let it win so it was going to drag him down with it.

He couldn’t tell Sammy, didn’t want his brother worrying anymore than he already was. Back at the room, he’d meant to convince Sammy to go, but it had been obvious that his brother had no intention of listening.

Dean wanted to be back at the room sleeping beside his brother, but he couldn’t just lie down and die. He was still afraid of what Sammy might do when he was gone.

The plan was to capture a demon alive. He couldn’t access the demon inside him without letting it out, but if he got a hold of a demon that was already at the surface, he might be able to get more information about how to knock the demon back for good.

It was a million to one shot so when he stumbled on Gordon he realized this was his chance. There were others that exorcized demons, but he knew for a fact that most of them sucked at it. If anyone could exorcise the demon from him, Gordon could.

First, there was this other demon to take care of.

It had been too easy getting the thing out of the bar. Two minutes later, Dean was in the passenger seat of a luxury car with a demon’s hand stroking his hip as it drove. He glanced to the side mirror to watch Gordon’s car pull out onto the road a couple of vehicles behind them. Dean settled back in the seat and tried not to think about Sammy.

His brother hated waking up alone, hated anyone fucking Dean. This wasn’t fair, but Dean didn’t know what else to do.

The demon’s hand gripped the front of his jeans, Dean thrust up his hips to grind into its hand. The thing’s eyes didn’t leave the road, but in the light from the passing cars, Dean could see the approving smile on its lips.

“Unzip your pants,” the demon said.

Dean complied without question.

“Slide them down.”

He raised his hips enough that he could pull down his jeans, moving them past his knees so he could spread his legs over the smooth leather as far as the confines of the seat would allow. He closed his eyes and wished he was back in bed with his brother as the demon’s hand pressed down between his legs.

His mind checked out completely and he let his body take over until the car’s engine turned off. They were parked outside of a large house that looked like a mansion by Dean’s standards, maybe by anyone’s. Dean wasn’t a great judge there. He only knew he’d never set foot in a house this big.

The demon seemed to pick up on Dean’s surprise and laughed. “Wife is out of town on business and the kids are away at college.” It patted his leg. “Come on, son, you can pull your pants up. Let’s get inside.”

It slid its arm around Dean, like Sammy would have, and led him through a large gate. Dean caught the lights of Gordon’s car, a block over, just before slipping into the house.

His nerves were on end, which wasn’t normal for a hunt. Typically he was loaded with adrenaline, but this was actual unease. He’d never gone into a house that hadn’t been secured. Dad didn’t have his back, it had been too long since he’d worked with Gordon and he wasn’t sure that he was strong enough to take this thing.

The demon wouldn’t shut up, but thankfully it wasn’t actually trying to make conversation. It was just talking and pretending that Dean gave a crap. Dean was used to that and he remained dutifully silent while he began to make note of possible exits.

They stopped in an oversized living room. There were large paintings on the wall and a huge stone fireplace. Dean thought the chair the demon sat down in probably cost more money than Dean had ever made. The thing reached over and took a glass from the table beside it, filled it up from the decanter and leaned back.

“I’d like to view my investment.”

Dean gave it a dumb look before he realized it wanted him to undress here, which wasn’t going to work. He needed to get it onto the second floor so that Gordon could get in unnoticed.

The bigger problem was that the lights were on and they were bright. The demon didn’t look like it had any intention of dimming them.

He was used to having the cover of darkness, lights just enough to showcase the outline of his body, without revealing details that were questions he didn’t want to answer. The scars and tattoo could reveal to the demon that Dean was just as dirty as it was.

Undressing in plain view for one of these things with questionable defenses bordered on suicidal, but there weren’t exactly a lot of other options.

Dean blanked this mind as he slipped from his jacket and overshirt, leaving on his t-shirt while he kicked off his boots and let his jeans pool onto the Persian carpet. He gripped the tattered hem of his t-shirt and tugged it off over his head, waiting for the inevitable fight he wasn’t sure he could win.

The demon had stopped babbling, finished the last of its drink and stood. It walked a tight circle around Dean, quietly studying him.

“Head up, please.”

Dean reluctantly lifted his gaze. There didn’t seem to be any recognition in the demon’s eyes. It only looked appraising. It was the look he’d seen in Dad’s eyes the first night he’d fucked him.

“Stunning.”

Dean’s shoulders tensed as the demon walked behind him. Its hand traced over one of the more prominent scars on his ass.

“You like it rough?”

The question brought a hopeful twinge to Dean at the possibility that this overly sappy demon might not want to pretend he was a lover, but would treat him like he deserved.

Dean nodded.

The thing took his arm, too gently, and led him towards the stairs. Dean released a quiet sigh of relief that Gordon would finally be able to get in. The sooner this was over, the sooner Gordon could get to work on him.

They walked into what must be the master bedroom. It positioned Dean in the middle of the room again, but this time didn’t leave him. It set a hand low on his belly, Dean expected an insult, but it seemed content just settling its hand there. It wasn’t until the second hand slapped down over his ass that he realized the hand was there to steady him.

He hated being spanked by a hand, it was another reminder too close to Dad. Dean had never let Sammy use only his hand, even though it was his brother’s preference. Sammy didn’t get that the simple slap of an open palm hurt him worse than a full-force stroke of the strop.

The demon continued its hard swats before its hand slid down to fondle him, jerking him like it wanted to get him off. Being punished for being a parent killing demonic bastard wasn’t exactly a turn on, but Dean pushed back into the slaps when the thing asked if he liked it.

It was far better having the swat of its hand than having to listen to it talk about its kids.

Too soon it stopped and led Dean towards the bed. It laid him on his back like Sammy always had when they’d used to fuck. Sammy had always wanted to see his eyes and this thing too kept trying to get him to look at it too.

The worst part was that it wanted him hard.

Dean didn’t usually get off. Dad had never liked it when he had and Dean tried his damnedest not to do it. Normally he was getting smashed up against a wall and it didn’t matter. Sammy was the only one who saw or cared, but Sammy refused to touch him like this anymore. Dean couldn’t blame him for not wanting to.

It wasn’t long after the thing had started in on him that Dean saw the shadow in the corner of the room. The demon didn’t hear a thing before Gordon ran a silver knife across its jugular.

The demon shoved into Dean with one last spasm of a thrust as hot blood poured from its dying body down over him. Its weight collapsed down on top of him.

The thing had been a teacher on leave for having touched its students. Now its kids were fatherless and his wife a widow.

Gordon pulled the body off him. “You were right.” He clamped a hand onto Dean’s arm and dragged him from the bed. “You still got it.”

Dean said nothing, letting Gordon lead him away while the blood cooled over his skin. They stopped at the top of a narrow stairwell that looked like it led down to the basement.

“Demons first,” Gordon said with a gesture of the silver knife.

At the bottom of the stairs, the concrete was cold beneath his feet. There was light from a single bare bulb and the air was unusually fresh.

The devil’s trap was already spray painted on the floor beneath a rope that had been looped over a support beam. A garden hose had been pulled in through the basement’s small window, which was still open and had obviously been just large enough for Gordon to squeeze through.

The last time Gordon had exorcized Dean, Dad had been watching. Dean wished he was here now too. He wished he’d said something else to Sammy before they’d fallen asleep because he knew there was more than a small chance he wouldn’t survive this.

Gordon unzipped a bag and started sorting through items while Dean moved to stand in the center of the devil’s trap with the rope dangling in front of him. A moment later, Gordon was beside him.

Dean held his arms out, wrists so that Gordon could knot the ropes. Once they were secured, Gordon jerked on the other end of the rope until Dean’s feet dangled above the ground and his shoulders felt as though they had been ripped from their sockets.

There was the rushing sound of water as the hose was turned on. Dean looked over his shoulder to see Gordon meticulously scrubbing his hands clean. He looked away when Gordon turned the hose on him, letting the icy water wash the demon blood from him and splatter down onto the floor.

Dean’s teeth were chattering by the time Gordon returned to his side. “You’re saving my life.”

“I got a confession to make,” Gordon said as he stood with an electric cord in his hand. “I am going to exorcize you. You’re a hell of a hunter, Dean, and it’s only right you die a man.” Gordon set his hand on the tattoo he had inked onto Dean’s chest. “But we both know I can’t let you walk away.”

~~~

When Sam found his brother he was going to put a bell on him and he was going to spank him every time he heard the damn thing jingle.

Sam was half way to a stroke, pacing a hole in the carpet of the motel room, his hands shoved into his hair and tightened into fists. He was trying not to be angry with Dean, but he was terrified. Dean was a danger to himself, but Sam had been sure that they’d agreed to just sleep tonight.

He wasn’t even sure how Dean was able to sneak out without him noticing. He must just lie there and wait for Sam to fall asleep, but that’s what Dean had been doing their entire lives so it wasn’t really surprising that he knew how to pull one over on Sam.

The ringing of his cell phone jolted him from his thoughts. There was only one person on the planet that had this number. He ran over to dig it out of his jacket. Sam flipped the phone open and set it to his ear.

“Hey, Sammy?”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t recognize the voice of the man on his brother’s phone.

“Who is this?”

“Friend of your old man’s. He was a damn fine hunter. Sorry to hear about his passing. Considering that, I only thought it right that you didn’t have to wonder what happened to your brother.”

“What happened to...” Sam was already grabbing his jacket. “Gordon?”

“So you have heard of me? That’s sweet.”

“Where’s my brother?”

“I’m finishing up with him now. I gotta say, I remember him being a lot stronger than this. The boy’s a real wreck. He’s been hollering for me to call you, seems to think you wanna kill yourself. He’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

“Put him on, Gordon. Or I swear-”

“Sorry, he can’t talk. I’m just doing him a favor, told him I’d look out for you so do me a favor and don’t make my job any harder than it has to be. Be seeing you around, Sammy.”

The line went dead.

Sam didn’t know anything about Gordon, aside from what he’d read in Dad’s journal, which had terrified him. The man sounded even crazier than Dad.

He was already on the phone getting a trace on Dean’s cell before he had the Impala shifted to drive. There was no need to check street signs any longer when he saw the flames shooting out the top of an old mansion.

Swerving onto a side street, Sam slammed the car into park and ran towards the property. He scaled the steel gate and sprinted across the lawn.

His eyes desperately searched for the most viable entrance and caught sight of a garden hose that had been dragged through the basement window. Sam stumbled to a stop, dropping on his belly and shined his flashlight into the basement’s partially open window.

A bloody body dangled from the ceiling.

“Dean!”

There was no answer. Sam didn’t need one when his light caught the blood splattered tattoo. The flames were crackling in the upstairs as Sam shoved the basement window the rest of the way open and slipped inside.

He skidded over the wet concrete, catching himself from falling by grabbing onto Dean. His brother felt cold. Sam shook him.

“Dean...fuck, come on, man.”

Sam left his brother only long enough to cut the anchoring rope and lower his brother to the ground. There was no time to check Dean’s condition. The floor above them was creaking and the sting of smoke was filling the air.

He set a chair by the window and scooped Dean into his arms. If Dean was heavy, Sam didn’t notice as he stumbled back to the window. After a couple of failed attempts, Sam managed to shove Dean’s limp body out. The basement’s window was only a couple feet off the ground from the outside.

Sam pulled himself up out the window, having to push Dean out of the way to get out. The yard was lit by the flames and smoldering debris was beginning to fall from the upper floors. Dean still wasn’t moving, just lying still and naked on the grass with his hands still bound.

The house began to collapse as Sam crouched down to throw Dean over his shoulder. Sam hustled across the lawn towards the main gate, which Gordon must have left open when he’d taken off. It would have been faster to lay Dean down and come back for him with the car, but nothing short of someone killing Sam would make him put down his brother.

He kept to the shadows on the way back to the Impala and fumbled with the back door handle before dropping Dean into the seat. It was too risky not to get out of there immediately and the motel was only a few minutes away, but it was too far for Sam to drive without even knowing if Dean was alive.

Sam pulled over a couple of blocks down the road and turned in his seat to set a hand against Dean’s neck. There was still a pulse, way too fast and labored, but it was there.

He shrugged off his jacket to throw over Dean before driving the rest of the way to the motel. When they arrived, he looked around to make sure no one was watching before going around the back and pulling Dean up on the seat. He cradled Dean in his arms to carry him back into the room.

Dean groaned as Sam laid him down in the bathtub.

Sam didn’t even know where to start. It was hard enough just to force his hands steady to turn on the water. Tremors were starting to shake Dean’s body by the time Sam was cutting away the blood slicked ropes.

In the light of the bathroom, Sam could see the drying vomit that smeared Dean’s chin and was splattered over the blood that covered his chest. It was impossible to tell where all the blood was coming from, aside from the obvious trails from Dean’s mouth and lips.

Sam splashed the water over his brother’s skin as the bath filled, letting it rinse away the blood. There were electrical burns, but they weren’t bleeding. He couldn’t find any large, hemorrhaging cut, just a mass of smaller ones.

Some looked like what Dad would have given Dean during a nasty whipping, while others were too thin and precise and would have been made with a dagger. It wasn’t until the blood was clearing away that Sam realized that they were symbols that had been carved into Dean, just like the cross on his thigh.

Dean was near to hyperventilating as he shook. His eyes were slit open, but unseeing.

Sam pulled his knees to his chest and huddled on the floor beside his brother. He leaned Dean’s head against his shoulder.

They’d been here plenty of times before - Dean half dead in a bathtub, and Sam not knowing if he was going to make it through the next minute, let alone see tomorrow. Every time, it only got harder, and this time was the worst of all.

It wasn’t because he’d never seen Dean this bad, but because they’d almost made it out of this life. They’d made it too far, were too close to a chance at happiness, for him to lose Dean now.

It hurt more knowing that they weren’t alone, that they never should have been. They could have lived so many different lives. Dean could have been happy. The Singers never would have hurt him and the Harvelles would have helped him if they could have.

“Sammy?”

Dean’s eyes were closed, but he shifted his head on Sam’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Sam whispered, wrapping his arm further around Dean.

“Gordon lied...but it’s okay...worked out.” Dean lips twitched up into a smile that gutted Sam. “I think it’s better now.”

~~~

 _July 4, 2001 – Omaha, Nebraska_

Dean was unconscious, or sleeping, Sam wasn’t really sure. His brother had been in and out all day, only coming around long enough for Sam to try to get some fluids into him. He’d sterilized the wounds, which Dean had thankfully been unconscious for, and stitched up the ones that had needed it.

When he came around, Dean kept mumbling things that Sam could barely make out and wasn’t sure that he wanted to. He couldn’t tell if Gordon had dosed Dean with something or if was just fever driving the delusions.

Sam sat in the dark on the bed beside his brother, listening to the distant boom of the city’s fireworks display. Dean had always liked fireworks and he wished Dean was well enough to see the show. He wondered if Bobby and Karen were having a barbeque and if the Roadhouse was bustling or closed for the holiday.

He just needed someone else to be here, but Mr. Harvelle had been clear about not being able to help and he couldn’t call Bobby or Karen. He couldn’t admit to them that he’d let someone else hurt Dean when he’d promised he wouldn’t.

Mr. Harvelle had given him a number for Pastor Jim and Sam’s finger hovered over the call button on his phone. Dean had been adamant that he didn’t want to be anywhere near Pastor Jim and Dad’s journal had said nothing, but bad things about him.

Both were points in Pastor Jim’s favor, but Sam was still nervous about talking to anyone from Dad’s journal after seeing what Gordon was capable of. But there just wasn’t anyone else.

He listened to the phone ring and keep on ringing. Slowly, he remembered that it was both late and a holiday and the chances of Pastor Jim even being there weren’t good. When a voice did speak on the other end, Sam didn’t know what to say.

“This is Pastor Jim. What’s on your mind?”

In that moment, staring out at the flares of light in the night sky, with his brother bloody and broken beside him, that voice hit with such a force of relief that Sam nearly sobbed. The gasped sound must have carried over the line.

“No problem is too great for God.”

Pastor Jim’s calm assurance in the face of Sam’s continued silence was too much for Sam to comprehend. This man didn’t even know who he was and didn’t care. He just wanted to help.

Sam leaned back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling as he ran his hand over Dean’s hair. “My brother needs help.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Pastor Jim replied. “Just start at the beginning.”

~~~

 _July 9, 2001- Blue Earth, Minnesota_

Jim Murphy’s hand remained resting lightly on the half turned page of the Bible when he heard the church’s door creak open. He glanced up with a gentle smile and knew instantly who he was looking at when he saw the uneasy young man staring down the aisle at him.

It had been several days since Jim had first spoken to Sam Winchester. There were no words to express how much his heart had shattered when Sam had detailed Dean’s condition. He had said many prayers for the child through the years.

Somehow, he hadn’t known that John had two children. Dean was the only one he’d ever met. John had brought the boy here, a scared and frightened child, and had insisted that Dean was possessed by a demon.

The man had been desperate, begging Jim to save his son. It had felt like he was being presented with an ultimatum - either he could rid the child of the demon his father had invented or John would see to it himself.

Jim’s church had never subscribed to exorcisms and he had calmly tried to explain as much to John, but had kept his objections vague. The man had been deeply disturbed and Jim had wanted to see to the child’s safety.

It had only taken one clear look at the boy to know that his father wasn’t a competent guardian. The child had been withdrawn, walked with a notable limp and had appeared undernourished. All Jim’s fears, and more, had been confirmed when John had detailed the management of the demon within his son.

The Winchester boy who stood in front of him now appeared healthy, but worn and exhausted far beyond his years while simultaneously looking far younger than Jim had expected. It had seemed a lifetime ago that he had contacted social services for Dean, but in truth, it hadn’t been so many years ago.

“You’re safe here,” Jim assured the uneasy boy.

There was a moment’s hesitation before Sam walked towards the pulpit. Jim closed his book and came down to meet him halfway. The boy looked all the wearier up close.

“Are you all right, son?”

Sam shook his head and Jim stepped forward to pull the boy into an embrace. It took a moment for Sam to relax into the hold, but then Jim felt long arms encircle his back.

“We all do the best we can,” Jim said. He could feel the weight of guilt knotting Sam’s shoulders. Gently, he pulled away so that he could see Sam’s eyes. “Would you like to sit down? I’d like to talk more about your brother.”

“Could we go talk with him? I kinda think he needs to hear it from you.”

Jim’s brow lifted in surprise. Considering the condition that Sam had reported his brother to be in, he’d assumed that Dean was still in bed and this was simply the soonest Sam could leave his side.

“So he is here?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, he’s outside.”

There was awkwardness in the answer that made it clear that Sam was uneasy about where his brother was. Perhaps he simply didn’t like leaving his brother alone or Dean’s condition was still questionable. He had begged the boy to take his brother to a hospital, but Sam had refused.

Sam had feared that they would try to take his brother away. Depending on Dean’s condition, he may not have been wrong in thinking that.

“He’s welcome to come in,” Jim said.

Sam shook his head. “He won’t. He can’t come on hallowed ground.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Jim enquired, not of Dean’s opinion, but of Sam’s. He still was unclear on what Sam’s stance was on the demon theory.

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted.

“Well, we’ll just find out, won’t we?”

The day was beautiful, warm with a gentle breeze. Jim took in a deep breath of the sweet air before noting Sam’s panic. The classic car the boy was staring at was empty.

“Dean!” Sam called out.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim caught a movement by one of the gravestones in the side yards. A young man stood there, older than Sam though he hardly looked it. His hands were shoved into his pockets. He was bundled beneath a jacket despite the summer’s warmth.

Dean’s posture was hunched, his eyes fixed on the ground. It was unquestionably the same boy that John Winchester had ordered to stand outside of Jim’s church years earlier.

Jim wasn’t at all sure what Dean’s impression of him was, whether it was hostility for not having stopped his suffering or if John had so indoctrinated him that Dean would be mistrustful of Jim for having tried to separate him from his father.

When Dean raised his head, there was only uneasy indifference in his tired eyes. Freckles stood out over his chalky skin. Just as the last time Jim had seen him, Dean walked with a heavy limp while being apparently oblivious to the pain that was so clearly causing it.

Dean leaned back into Sam when his brother came up behind him. A touch of the tension released from his body as Sam’s arm came around Dean in a way that didn’t appear entirely platonic. Their obvious dependence was far from the greatest concern at the moment.

“It’s good to see you on your feet,” Jim said as he held his hand out to Dean.

“Go on, Dean,” Sam said softly against his brother’s ear.

Dean turned his head to glare at his brother. “He doesn’t really wanna touch me,” Dean replied beneath his breath, though still loud enough that Jim could just make out the words.

“Yeah, that’s why he’s standing there holding his hand out.”

There was an edge of panic in Dean’s eyes. In most situations, Jim would have simply pulled back his hand. However, he understood from Sam’s gentle nudges to his brother that this was about far more than a hand shake.

Dean rubbed his hand repeatedly on his jeans as if there was physically something there that had to be wiped away. His hands, however, were quite obviously clean, likely excessively so if Dean’s paranoia was any indication.

Jim’s expression didn’t waver as he took Dean’s hand, his heart clenching as he wondered from Dean’s wary expression if he was one of the first to have the pleasure.

“Are you enjoying the church grounds?” Jim asked. He waited for the look of understanding to surface in Dean’s eyes. “Your brother mentioned you had a concern regarding hallowed ground, but you seemed to be doing exceptionally well with it.”

Dean looked as if he wanted to run back towards the car at the confirmation. “Sorry, sir.”

“I invited you, Dean. You’re welcome here.” He said nothing more of it, letting Dean draw his own conclusions as he waved him towards the church. “We can talk inside.”

They followed him back through the heavy doors and Sam settled on the pew beside Dean. Pastor Jim took in the light from the stained glass windows before looking down to see Dean’s gaze lost in the flickering of prayer candles.

Pastor Jim settled down a comfortable distance from him. “Your brother has filled me in on recent events.”

“You can’t help me,” Dean said. “I already know you don’t believe in demons.”

“That’s not entirely true. The Bible tells of instances of demonic possession, but you must understand that these occurrences were primarily related to physical ailments. It’s shown to manifest through illness and mental unease.”

“I’m sick.” Dean’s words were jarring and brought a sharp look of concern to Sam’s face. “I think it’s killing me.”

“Dean, what are you talking about?” Sam asked.

Jim folded his hands, his brow knitting in concern as he looked him over. There was no denying that Dean looked unwell, and quite likely was, but not for the reasons that Dean might believe.

“Even if these examples are to be taken literally, there are many others reasons for someone to be sick. Your brother said you’ve never been to a doctor. That would be a good place to start.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Dean said.

“For you or the doctors?”

Dean’s fingers played over the wood grain of the pew in front of them. “The doctors.”

“What do you think might happen?”

Jim gave a curious tilt of his head as he tried to piece together Dean’s logic. Dean looked anxious to get up, but was trapped between Jim and Sam, who set a hand on Dean’s thigh, rubbing gently there.

“They could get possessed.”

“Ah, I see, but if that were true, wouldn’t Sam be possessed as well?” Jim asked.

Dean’s eyes focused on the hand his brother rested on his leg. His eyes were still doubtful. “It’s in my blood.”

“From what Sam told me regarding your last exorcism, there was a great deal of blood involved. I imagine it wasn’t the first time Sam came into contact with your blood either.” Jim leaned forward. “Dean, I need you to tell me exactly what happened that night.”

“You know. Dad told you everything.”

“Yes, but humor me. I’m not a young man, it’s been a while and I’d like to hear it from you.”

~~~

 _November 2, 1983 - Lawrence, Kansas_

There was a dragon, but it wasn’t in a castle. It was in his house and it had Sammy and Mom in the attic. Sammy was crying and Dad was shouting, waving a sword as the dragon kept setting things on fire with its breath.

Dean ran to help and they’d nearly chased it back when Dean had woken up. He was pretty sure the dragon was gone, but his heart was racing and he pulled the blankets over his head, just in case.

He didn’t hear a dragon or smell smoke, but Sammy was still crying. Mom and Dad said it was okay, that babies just did that. Dean didn’t like it and he was pretty sure they were wrong. Sammy wouldn’t cry for no reason at all.

Sammy sounded really scared.

Pushing off the covers, Dean sat up on the bed, listening. Then he heard Dad yell for real. Sammy and Mom were in trouble. He had to save them.

Dean slid off his bed and his bare feet padded towards the door. His hand reached up and turned the knob, pulling it open. There were voices he didn’t recognize coming from Sammy’s room. People were laughing. It sounded like the hyenas he’d seen at the zoo.

He ran down the hall, skidding to a stop outside of Sammy’s nursery. There was a man pointing a gun into Sammy’s crib. Two other men held Dad as he tried to fight and another was tearing off Mom’s nightgown. He was the one laughing.

“Leave them alone!” Dean yelled.

Dad fought harder and shouted to him. “Dean, no, run!”

But he couldn’t leave his family for the monsters to take. That wasn’t what big brothers did.

Instead, he ran towards the man that was making Mom cry. He kicked his foot at the man’s shin, which made him laugh more, but it also made him let go of Mom. She hit the floor when the man pushed her away.

Mom started yelling when the man pulled him up. It wasn’t like Dad held him.

The man jerked Dean up by one arm. Dean cried out and tried to thrash free of the hold that felt like it was going to rip his arm off. He did what he saw Dad doing and threw a punch at the man’s face. It hurt his hand and made the man say bad words.

Dad froze when the man shoved a gun against Dean’s head.

“You really wanna see which of us has got greasier fingers?” The man asked with a nod towards the other one who held a gun to Sammy’s head.

“Don’t hurt Sammy,” Dean said.

The man gripped him tighter then smiled. His breath smelled funny and stung Dean’s eyes as he leaned his head closer to whisper in Dean’s ear. “Wanna play a game?”

Dean swiped at the tears that were making it hard to see and shook his head. “I want you to go away.”

“Sure...” the man replied. “But you wanna save your brother, right?” When Dean nodded, the man shoved the gun into his pocket and traded it for a knife.

“You lay one finger on my son and you’ll all wish you were dead.” Dad’s voice was quiet, but angrier than Dean had ever heard him. “Every last one of you.”

“Relax, Papa Bear. We’re just having a little fun.” Dean’s eyes grew wide as the man slid the blade over his own wrist. His voice was again a whisper that Dean had to strain to hear. “You ever tasted blood, kid?”

“No.”

He tried to squirm away as the man pressed his bleeding wrist to Dean’s mouth. The hot blood smeared over his lips.

“What the hell are you doing to my son?” Dad asked, bucking against the men who held him.

The man smirked at Dad before looking back down at Dean and whispering again in his ear. “You like that? No? Well, that’s what’s gonna be flowing from your little brother, your Mommy and your Daddy if you don’t play along.”

The man switched the knife for his gun and showed it to Dean. With a sniffle, Dean scrunched his face. He tried to spit the blood from his mouth and wipe it away, frowning as he saw it smeared over the sleeve of his pajamas.

“You gotta pick one of them to point this thing at,” the man said with a motion of the gun, “or they’ll all have to bleed. You don’t want that, do you?”

When Dean shook his head, the man set him back down on the ground. He crouched down over him with an arm on each side of Dean and the gun held out in front of him. One of the other men pushed Mom down on her knees beside Sammy’s crib.

“Hold it,” the man instructed very quietly as he pushed the gun into Dean’s hands.

It was heavy and cold and way bigger than the toy guns at the store that Dad wouldn’t buy him. The man helped hold its weight as he positioned Dean’s hand so his finger could wrap around the trigger.

“Dean?” Dad asked. “What are you doing? Put that gun down, son. Now.”

Mom looked angry too. Not at him, but at the man behind him. “What are you telling him?”

The man coated his finger with blood and pushed it into Dean’s mouth. “That’s what they’ll taste like,” he breathed against Dean’s ear, “unless you squeeze the trigger. Come on, Sammy or Mommy.”

Dean wasn’t sure what would happen when he pulled the trigger or why it mattered if he did. The ones at the store just made little sounds. Dad still didn’t like him pointing them at people, but Dad didn’t know that everyone would bleed if he didn’t point this one.

He couldn’t point it at Sammy. His brother was too little to bleed at all. A few weeks ago, Mom had dropped a glass in the kitchen and she’d been scared when Sammy had crawled over and touched a shard.

Mom was crying harder but tried to smile at him. “It’s okay, baby.”

It was hard to believe her. He’d never seen her so scared or Dad so angry and everyone was saying something different.

“You got ten seconds then it’s my turn and I get them all,” the man told him. “You just gotta take one shot and then the game’s over, but you have to point at their head or it doesn’t count.”

With the man’s help, Dean aimed while Mom kept telling him it was okay and Dad yelled no. He pulled the trigger, spraying the crib with blood.

~~~

 _July 9, 2001 – Blue Earth, Minnesota_

“But I know that’s not what happened,” Dean said. “The demon...it put memories in my head and blocked other stuff out. It just wanted me to think that I was saving Sammy.”

Dean’s eyes were distant as he hugged himself. Sam wiped at his cheeks before also wrapping his arms around Dean. There was a war of emotions washing over Sam’s features. If Sam hadn’t fully believed that Dean was human before, he clearly did now.

Jim kept his gaze soft and without judgment as he looked between the boys. Even Dean had obviously caught the hole in his own story. It was the exact same story John had told him, with one painfully notable difference.

There was no incantation or the exchange of demon blood. There were no demons, only men doing something too horrible to believe to a good family. In everything there was a reason, though some times even Jim had difficulty finding it.

“How would you know if it altered your memories?” Jim asked gently.

“I-I just know it did.” Dean’s brow was furrowed as he looked down. “Dad told me what really happened.”

“You realize there’s no way your father could have heard what was being said.” Jim rubbed his hands together and prayed for the words that would help this boy see past the misinformation without pushing him into denial. “Your father was a good man, Dean, and he saw something terrible done to his family that night. Sometimes, it can be difficult to accept things that we can see no reason for.”

“That’s crap.” Dean shook his head. “Dad didn’t just make it up. I can feel it inside me.”

“That you’re sick?” Jim asked.

“Everything.” Dean ran his hand over his hair. “The way I feel...all the time.”

“Guilt, regret – they’re very painful, very human emotions.”

“No.” Dean stood abruptly, tripping his way over Sam’s long legs to climb out from the pew. “Dad didn’t...not for no reason. He read it in your damn book,” Dean said pointing towards the Bible at the church’s alter, his voice on the edge of breaking. “‘Beat him with the rod to deliver his soul from hell’. He was trying to save me!”

“I don’t doubt that, but that’s a little used interpretation of Proverbs 23:13, which does advocate the correction of a child who has done wrong, but after a certain age, we’re told to make our choices separate from our fathers.”

“Oh, I made a choice and my Dad’s dead because of it. How much more wrong can you do than killing your own parents?” Dean limped half way to the front of the church, staring towards the picture windows, before he paced back. “After the whippings - it always felt better, and the salt and holy water, I can always feel it making the demon weaker.”

Sam stood and quickly closed the distance between him and his brother. “You only felt better ‘cause you thought you were getting what you deserved, but you never deserved that,” Sam said. “Let’s just look at the possibility here, Dean. What are you afraid of? Worst case scenario, what we thought is true and we’re no worst off. But if maybe you’re just sick, and we can make you better, then we gotta try.”

Dean turned away and Sam became anxious. “Right, Dean?”

“This thing, inside of me - I hate it.” Dean spun around as quickly as his healing body would allow. “I hate it so fucking much.” His hand went to his chest and his eyes moved desperately between them. “What if it is just me? Then you’re telling me it won’t ever go away.”

“I love you enough for both of us,” Sam said as he pulled his brother back to his chest. “Demon or no demon, we’re going to figure this out."


	12. Chapter 12

_July 10, 2001 – Blue Earth, Minnesota_

Neither of them had slept at all last night. They hadn’t even tried.

They’d just gone out and laid back on the hood of the car, staring up at the night sky from the church yard. Dean had asked Sam to remind him which constellations were which, but Sam really only remembered the ones that Dean had made up when they were kids.

After they’d watched the sun rise, Dean had gotten tired enough to allow his eyes to close. He’d slept in Sam’s arms until Pastor Jim had come out to find them. Then they’d woken up Dean just enough to get him into the car.

Healing was still taking a lot out of his brother and now Sam couldn’t stop looking for the other symptoms he had always overlooked. Dean said some of them came and went depending on how bad things were with the demon, but he knew that even his brother was growing uncertain about whether or not to believe that was the cause.

Weakness, dizziness, shortness of breath, chest pains, stomach aches and migraines just to start off the list and Dean had only once or twice ever told him he felt sick. Dean had never bothered to mention that he might be dying.

Dean said it had been a slow decline. The demon had been eating away at him for years. His brother had always said that, but Sam had never really understood what he meant. Sam should have taken the hint when Dean had admitted he couldn’t even take a piss comfortably.

Most of the time growing up Dean had looked sick. He’d always been hurt or overly exhausted from training or taking stuff to make himself throw up.

It didn’t matter how well Dean had hidden it, Sam should have noticed. He was at Dean’s side nearly every second of every day and hadn’t even noticed that his brother was human. He’d beaten him, and he’d let his father beat him, for absolutely no reason at all.

His mind searched back through his memories of growing up and he tried to replace every time he’d been so sure he was watching a demon with the image of Dean as just a little boy following Dad’s orders.

There weren’t words for how much Sam hated himself right now.

As he sat in the clinic waiting room staring at his brother, he saw Dean for what he really was – just human. There had never been any super strength or demonic stealth, just hardcore training. The funny thing was that it didn’t change anything at all because Dean wasn’t just human.

Dean was Sam’s big brother. He had suffered through all of this to save Sam’s life, more than once, and Sam was going to save him.

His brother tapped his fingers anxiously on the ugly green vinyl of the waiting room chair. Sam didn’t get it, but he knew his brother would rather be taking blows from a belt or getting fucked in some alley than waiting to see a doctor.

“Dean, you need to relax,” Sam said.

“I am relaxed.”

As if Dean’s rapping finger hadn’t been enough, his boot also started tapping on the linoleum of the floor.

Sam looked up over the fish tank that seemed to be holding Dean’s attention to the television hanging in the corner, running some melodramatic excuse for a show. He watched it for a minute before hoping that most other television programs were better than this one.

He set his hand over Dean’s. “Do you want me to turn it off?”

Dean glanced to the other people in the room and shook his head.

Sam didn’t give a crap that there were ten other people in the room watching it. His brother didn’t like televisions on, and if Dean wanted it off, Sam would damn well turn it off.

The fact that there were so many other strangers surrounding them wasn’t helping anything. Sam would rather they were here alone, but Pastor Jim had done everything he could to arrange this to be minimally stressful for Dean.

They were going to see a male doctor, who Pastor Jim had already talked to about the marks on Dean’s body and the fact that Sam needed to be in the room. He’d promised Sam that no matter what they found, no one would take Dean away.

Aside from killing Dean, someone taking Dean away had been Dad’s biggest threat to get Sam to help control the demon. Even though Sam was now big enough to stop it, the threat still hung heavy in the back of his mind.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Sam looked up as his brother looked down. A young woman stood just in the doorway holding a clipboard and smiling towards Dean. They stood and Sam put his hand on the back of Dean’s neck, steering his brother down the hallway after the nurse.

He could feel Dean’s pulse racing beneath his touch. A slight tremor went through Dean’s body as they stepped into the confines of the small exam room. Dean stood where Sam directed him and didn’t move an inch from that spot.

“You want me to strip?” Dean asked.

While he grimaced at the choice of words, Sam felt a rush of relief at the fact that Dean had just spoken to a girl, even if he wasn’t looking at her enough to acknowledge her sex.

The nurse took it as flirting, laughing softly to herself as she sat down. “You bet I would, sweetie, but how about I just ask you a few questions and then get you a gown.”

Sam didn’t want to ask about the request for a male doctor in front of Dean, but he had to make sure this wasn’t the person that was going to be examining his brother. “And then the doctor will come?”

“You betcha. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

The tension visibly eased from Dean’s shoulders.

The nurse ran through a litany of questions that confirmed Dean wasn’t a smoker, his diet sucked and he exercised more than the nurse seemed to think was humanly possible. They knew absolutely nothing of their own family history or if Dean even had any allergies and there weren’t enough sheets of paper in the whole clinic to bother listing every serious injury Dean had received.

As they spoke, the smile fell from the nurse’s face, her eyes filled with sympathy as she really began to look at Dean. His brother shifted anxiously under the pitying look. Sam cleared his throat to distract the nurse’s gaze.

She adjusted her position and looked back to her questions. “Do you practice safe sex?”

“No, ma’am,” Dean said. “It doesn’t pay good enough.”

Sam had to clamp his jaw shut to keep from commenting, but he also realized something else. “He doesn’t...” A slight blush came to Sam’s face. He didn’t know what the politically correct term was for his brother being the one getting fucked. “He doesn’t need to be the one wearing a condom.”

She nodded in apparent understanding. “How many partners have you had?”

“‘Partners’?” Dean asked.

“Have you been with multiple men?”

“Depends on the night.” Dean’s tone edged on defensive. “I’m a whore, but I clean out.”

The nurse grew strangely quiet as Dean detailed his post-sex procedure. Dean, in turn, grew more uneasy about talking to her. Sam breathed a sigh of relief when she finally left.

Dean was wearing three heavy layers and despite the fact he’d obviously known they were going to ask him to take his clothes off, he seemed reluctant to do it. Sam helped him with the first couple layers then let him pull off his t-shirt.

Sam had been half afraid with all of Dean’s reluctance that there was fresh damage there, but the most recent marks were Gordon’s. Of course, those were part of the marks Dean wanted to hide.

Showing a stranger went against everything Dad had beat into Dean. He wasn’t ever supposed to let anyone see and the stark exam room lights caught every scar and every healing cut that had been carved into his brother.

“How does this damn thing go on?” Dean asked with a frustrated huff.

He was holding the gown the nurse had left him with. Dean looked ready to toss it into the trash and run out of the room. Sam folded Den’s clothes on the chair and then took the gown from him. He flipped it over a couple of times before figuring out which way was up.

“Well, the arms are here, so I guess it goes on like this.”

Dean scowled as Sam slid it onto him. “That’s stupid.” Dean looked over his own shoulder to see his ass hanging out of the back of the gown. “How’s this better than being naked?”

Sam grimaced in sympathy. He knew, for Dean, having his backside singled out was way worse than being fully naked. With a gentle tug, Sam pulled the flaps in the back so they overlapped, then gave a shrug.

“You got me.”

The door knob turned and when the door opened a slightly overweight man carrying a file folder walked in. Sam couldn’t help but be on alert simply because his brother was even though the man who walked in only smiled kindly at them.

Dean stood awkwardly in the middle of the room like Sam had seen him stand a hundred times before. He was putting himself on display, preparing to be graded like a slice of meat.

“You must be Dean,” the doctor said as he held his hand out. “I’m Doctor Alderman.”

Dean didn’t hold his hand up to take the doctor’s. Despite what they’d talked about, Sam knew that his brother was still worried about infecting the doctor. Sam was suddenly afraid that his brother didn’t understand that the doctor might be touching him in all kinds of places.

Sam gave an encouraging nod as Dean glanced to him.

“Yeah,” Dean said as he accepted the doctor’s hand.

There was less hesitation than when Dean had shaken Pastor Jim’s hand. Sam couldn’t help but wonder if Pastor Jim had been the one to tell the doctor to greet Dean like that.

“Very good. Go ahead and have a seat and we’ll get started.”

Dean sat gingerly on the crinkly paper of the exam table. By the way he was fussing around, he obviously didn’t like the way it felt against his skin. While it would defeat the whole point, Sam wanted to switch seats with him.

“So, I’ve looked over your info, which is astonishingly...brief. There are several points of concern in regards to some of the information you have given us. We are going to need to get urine and blood samples. I’m assuming when you say you haven’t seen a doctor since you were four that includes being screened for STDs?”

Sam nodded to Dean when his brother sent him a questioning look. He doubted Dean even knew what a STD was.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said.

Unlike Dean, Sam had been in school long enough for health class and his stomach plummeted as he tried to run through the symptoms for the diseases they’d covered in school. “Do you think that’s what’s making him sick?”

“We’ll run the tests and see what we’re dealing with. Dean, how long have you been engaging in this kind of sexual activity.”

“Maybe, ten years.”

Doctor Alderman looked at Dean then back over the file. “We have that you are twenty-two.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. I’m just going to feel your neck here,” Doctor Alderman said. Dean went rigid as the doctor’s fingers pressed against the side of his throat. “You’re doing just fine. Now if you could open your mouth for me. Great. And how long have you been using the Ipecac syrup?”

“I don’t know.” Dean shrugged. “Since I started having trouble gagging.”

Sam shifted anxiously on his chair when Doctor Alderman frowned. “Is that bad?”

“Well, that’s more than likely the cause of his muscular decline despite the increased exercise. Chronic use of Ipecac can be fatal and could account for quite a few of his symptoms. Deterioration of the heart muscle would be our primary concern. Let’s just check out your vitals, Dean, and see what we’ve got.”

Dean leaned away as the Doctor Alderman stepped closer. When the doctor unhooked the blood pressure cuff from the wall, Sam popped out of his chair and was at Dean’s side before the doctor touched Dean’s arm.

His brother’s breaths came in quick, panicked gasps as the cuff tightened around his bicep. Sam was so focused on rubbing the tension from his brother’s shoulder, that he’d almost missed the perplexed look on the doctor’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

“His heart still sounds strong, which is great, but it’s working very hard.” The doctor appeared lost in thought as he removed the stethoscope from his ears. “We’re going to have to monitor him, but his blood pressure is bordering on Stage 2 hypertension. I know you’re under a lot of anxiety right now, Dean, and we want to see what your heart is doing when you’re relaxed, but even under extreme stress we shouldn’t ever be seeing these numbers in someone as young as you, especially given how active you are.”

Sam bit his lip. He’d almost never seen his brother relaxed. Even when Dean was lying around he was waiting for the shit to hit the fan. Right now, Dean was frighteningly still beneath his hand.

“What does that mean?” Dean asked.

“A lot of what I’m seeing would be conducive with the symptoms we’d see in a patient with purging anorexia.”

Dean shot Sam a look. “That sure as hell sounds like a demon.”

“Anorexia...the eating disorder?” Sam asked, ignoring his brother’s cocked brow. “That’s not right. They were just our Dad’s rules to deal with the demon.”

“Yes,” Doctor Alderman replied. “I was briefed on your background, but the symptoms remain the same and he is dramatically underweight-“

“I’m not underweight.”

“You don’t think so? I’m just going to feel around your midsection here.”

The doctor walked behind Dean and slipped his hands beneath the gown. Sam stepped aside so he was as out of the way that he could be without having to remove his hand from the nape of Dean’s neck. His brother leaned into him while the doctor’s hands moved over his abdomen.

“This is consistent with the swelling I’m seeing at your feet and ankles. I want to check to see how your kidneys are doing because this is an extreme amount of water retention.”

Sam’s hand squeezed the back of Dean’s neck as he took in the doctor’s words. “It’s not fat?”

“Certainly not. I haven’t seen this low a concentration of fat in any functioning human.”

Dean shot a look over his shoulder at Sam. “Maybe not in a human...”

“Dean,” Sam warned.

His brother clamped his jaw shut and looked forward again.

“I can’t quite get a clear picture of your diet here. Do you eat a lot of salty foods?”

“I eat a lot of salt.”

Doctor Alderman took a seat to give Dean some space and looked him over. “Like on your French fries?”

Dean shook his head. “Just salt. Straight handfuls and in my holy water.”

“This is frequent?” When Dean nodded in reply, Doctor Alderman nodded to himself. “That accounts for your remaining symptoms. I’m assuming you feel substantially worse after these salt dosing episodes?”

“Yeah...”

“Anyone would. Aside from the major symptoms, it could just in general make you feel ill – sore throat, headaches. I’m sure you’re constantly thirsty.” The doctor leaned back in his chair. “Dean, I’m happy to report that you are completely, certifiably human and exceptionally lucky to be alive.”

It only took one look at Dean’s face to know that he felt anything but lucky. Even Sam was having trouble swallowing what should have been the best news they’d ever heard.

It had all been Dad.

Dad had forced the salt on Dean and then bullied him about his apparent weight gain, had given him the Ipecac and then complained that Dean was becoming weak. Dean must have been beginning to acknowledge that because Sam could feel the tremor of Dean’s shoulders.

Doctor Alderman looked between them and then stood. “I need to do a full physical, but how about you boys take a few minutes.” The doctor handed Dean a cup, which Sam took for him. “We still need those blood and urine samples.”

Dean’s eyes were blank as he sat with his hands on his lap. “Which do you want first?”

“I think you’re supposed to piss in it,” Sam said. “In the bathroom.” He helped his brother off the table and adjusted his gown before leading him from the room. “You’re doing fine, Dean.”

Dean swatted at Sam’s grip on his arm as they walked down the hall. “Like hell I am.”

Sam ushered Dean into the small, single-toilet bathroom and locked the door. When he turned around, Dean was looking at himself in the mirror. His jaw clenched so hard it was trembling.

“Dean?”

He saw his brother curl his fist, but couldn’t react fast enough before Dean punched into the mirror’s glass. Sam jumped in surprise. A crack spread over the lower part of the mirror and Dean’s knuckle came away bloody. Sam scrambled to grab Dean before he could cock his fist back again.

Dean shoved him away. “Salt? Fucking salt?” The words were said to no one in particular as Dean dug his hands against his scalp.

“You didn’t know. Dad didn’t even know.”

“I was sure. I’d kick back the salt and feel like crap because the demon...son of a bitch! I killed Mom, Dad...all of them. It wasn’t a demon, Sammy. It was just me.”

“No, Dean, it was just us – it’s still us.”

~~~

 _July 27, 2001 – Worthington, Minnesota_

“You sure there’s no wrong answer?” Dean asked.

Dean sat on the booth beside Sam, stabbing at croutons with his fork. Mostly he was just pulverizing them. Finally, he gave up, grabbing them with his fingers and popping them in his mouth.

Sam leaned back against the cracked vinyl and raised his brow to his brother. “Do you really think I’m going to whip you if you say you don’t like Caesar salad?”

“I don’t know. You’re a little defensive about your rabbit food.”

“It’s good for you.”

“Awesome. Then it’s good for you too. Eat up.” Dean shoved the salad plate to join the other small collection of discards lined up in front of Sam. “The cheese and croutons are okay, but I don’t know how you eat this green crap. Dude, no offense, but everything you like sucks.”

“I said we’d figure out what you liked, Dean, not that you’d have good taste.”

“Shut up.”

Dean scanned the other plates on the table in front of him. Even though it was just the two of them, they’d needed the largest booth just to fit all their plates on since they’d literally ordered one of everything. If Dean was going to start ordering his own food, he’d have to figure out what he liked.

His brother snatched a couple of French fries, stuffed them into his mouth then grimaced. He reached for his Pepsi and washed them down. This wasn’t the first time Dean had French fries, he’d shared them with Sam before.

“You don’t like French fries?” Sam asked.

“They taste like salt.”

Sam frowned as he scooped the fries off the burger plate to join the Caesar salad. He couldn’t be more relieved that Dean was off the salt, but if Dean thought he could avoid anything that tasted like salt, he was going to be disappointed with a lot of foods that Sam was pretty sure he’d otherwise like.

“And this just tastes like crap,” Dean added as he pushed the ice tea towards Sam.

“You’d probably like it with some sugar.”

“Yeah, well, sugar looks like salt. And if I ever see another fucking grain salt....” Dean leaned back. “I’m ready for dessert.”

It was probably better not to mention that dessert was made mostly of sugar. At least Dean didn’t have an aversion to that flavor. As far as Sam could so far figure, his brother was a carnivore with one hell of a sweet tooth. At least getting weight on him wasn’t going to be a problem.

“I’m sure Karen is going to have some pie ready for you,” Sam said. “Probably a lot of pie.”

Dean’s easy posture abruptly became more reserved as he pulled back into himself. “I don’t know about doing this to them.”

“Are you kidding me? Dean, I couldn’t talk them out of it.”

“They’re just being nice. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, I know. But I think I could get used to it.”

His brother pursed his lips. “I’ve been thinking about the school thing.”

“And?”

“I’m not gonna do it, but I want you to. You’re a fucking genius, Sammy. You figured out I wasn’t a demon way before I did.” Dean shook his head. “I still don’t know what I am. Without the hunt...I don’t know, man. But the school thing, I know it’s not for me.”

“You’re smart too, Dean.”

Dean scoffed. “Whatever. It’s just sitting in those damn plastic chairs all day and knowing it didn’t even matter. I know it’s not like that anymore, but nothing’s gonna take that back, and if we’re moving on, I don’t wanna go back.”

“Yeah, okay, but you’re sure you’re okay with me going?”

Sam didn’t like the idea of not being with Dean for so many hours a day. They’d already worked out for him to stay with Pastor Jim during school hours. It had been hard enough convincing Dean to try staying with Karen and Bobby while Sam was there. His brother still didn’t trust himself to be with them alone.

Driving to Pastor Jim’s would mean a four hour round trip for Dean every day, but it would give him some time on the road and maybe it would make the change to a stationary lifestyle a little less abrupt. Everything was going to change, but Sam couldn’t help but think that was exactly what they needed.

“Totally. You’re not gonna be that far away and I think I can keep myself out of trouble for half the day. You know, I figure, maybe some days I can come hang around the campus and catch you at lunch. I know you don’t like that cafeteria crap.”

“That’d be cool, Dean. But I think we can get you your GED without you actually having to sit though class.”

He and Dean had been staying with Pastor Jim for the last couple of weeks while Pastor Jim had worked with Dean about the demons. During the time, most of his brother’s physical wounds had healed and he was starting to have enough energy to be trouble.

Dean’s thought process was still completely skewed, but Pastor Jim had warned Sam that it probably always would be. Like Dean had said, there was no way to take back what was already done.

Sam still had to watch Dean like a hawk. His brother had thought going out to work prostitution jobs would be an acceptable way to pay off the cost of his chlamydia and gonorrhea antibiotics. He’d only done it once. Between’s Sam’s hairbrush and Pastor Jim rigging the doors with bells, Dean had gotten the point pretty fast.

Dean really was trying. This was just really new for the both of them.

Karen and Pastor Jim had helped Sam apply for a scholarship to the local community college in Sioux Falls. Now they were moving in with the Singers and everyone really wanted Dean to get his GED. The whole prostitution and hunting resume wasn’t exactly sitting well with anyone.

The thing was, Sam didn’t actually care what anyone else wanted. He got that they were trying to help and that they were all looking out for Dean. Sam also understood that in the long run, having at least a GED could be important for Dean, but Dean had never been allowed to make decisions of his own and this one wasn’t life or death.

As much as Sam wanted to pretend that they were going to wake up tomorrow and everything was going to be perfect, he knew better. Dean was probably never going to work a normal job and that was okay. If his brother really didn’t want a GED, for whatever reason, Sam would stick with him on it.

“There’s no point,” Dean said. “I can read well enough to get by and I can add and subtract well enough to make change. If I need to know anything else, I’ll just ask you. No reason to waste my brain space on useless crap when I got a living, breathing encyclopedia.”

Sam chuckled and leaned his head to rest against Dean’s. “Do you think it’ll get easier?”

“No, but I don’t think it can get worse and it’s not so bad right now."

A grin broke out across Sam’s lips. That was downright optimistic coming from Dean.

~~~

 _September 19th, 2001 – Singers Salvage - Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

When Sam came home from school, Dean was in the garden. He had a bag of manure slung over his shoulder and Karen hustling ahead to direct him where to take it, while asking him a dozen times if it was too heavy. She had obviously never seen Dean haul bodies, and off the salt and ipecac, Dean was already getting even stronger.

Karen’s face lit up all the more when she saw him. “Sam! Well, my goodness. You’re home early, aren’t you?”

“One of my professors was sick.”

“That’s too bad. You’ll just have to join us for lunch. Bobby’s working on the chili right now.”

“That’d be great.” Sam smiled to Karen before his eyes wandered back to the apprehensive look on Dean’s face. He furrowed his brow at his brother when Dean wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Mind if I borrow my brother?”

“Oh, of course not. It’s not like the raspberries are going anywhere. Just make sure Dean grabs a drink inside. I’ve been trying to get this boy to take a break for two hours now.”

Dean was silent as he walked a step behind Sam. “Hey, you okay?” Sam asked once where out of earshot of the garden.

“I know I shouldn’t be here with them alone, but Pastor Jim had this thing and Bobby had a couple cars that needed work and Karen doesn’t need to be lugging that stuff around, so I thought...”

“Whoa, you think I’m upset you’re here?” His brother averting his eyes was answer enough. “Dean, I’m not mad. Surprised, yeah, but I think it’s awesome. Did you fix some cars up?”

Sam hadn’t known that Dad had used to be a mechanic until Dean had told him. It had made him uneasy about Dean picking that as his chosen activity, but he’d slowly admitted to himself that it was a safe way to let Dean still be closed to Dad while hopefully getting closer to Bobby.

“Yeah.” Dean gave a dismissive shrug. “There wasn’t all that much wrong with them.”

“If it was me, I’d still be trying to figure out where the engine was.”

“No you wouldn’t. You’d grab some technical manual and figure it out faster than I could.”

He put his arm around Dean’s shoulder and led him into the house. “Maybe this weekend we can have a race and I’ll prove just how bad I suck at it.”

“That you, Dean?” Bobby called.

“Yes, sir. Sammy’s here too.”

“Good," Bobby replied. "That beanpole needs some real food too and there’s plenty to go around." 

They detoured to the kitchen where Bobby was standing over the stove stirring a pot. Dean stood in the doorway while Sam headed in to grab Dean a glass of water. His brother’s eyes were distant as he watched Bobby stir the chili with a wooden spoon. It was one of many things that still made Dean flinch.

Bobby looked over his shoulder to catch Dean's eyes. “That was great work on that Mustang, kid. That one had me stumped.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Sam raised a brow at Dean to let him know that his easy fix story wasn’t floating. They knew Bobby had been in the business at least as long as Dean had been alive so for Dean to have managed a fix Bobby couldn’t find, car repair was obviously something Dean was a lot better at than he was willing to admit.

“Boy, what did I tell you about sir-ing me?” Bobby asked. He looked right at Dean with a warm smile and kept his voice light so that Dean would know that he wasn’t really in trouble. “Every once in a while, if you gotta, but I can’t handle two in one conversation. You’re making me old before my time.”

“Yes...Bobby.”

“See? Wasn’t so hard. Go get washed up now. This is just about ready.”

“Yes, Bobby.” It was said with the same tone as Dean’s typical “yes, sir”.

No matter how much everyone wanted him to, Dean couldn’t just drop the automatic response that had been beaten into him all his life. Even though it wouldn’t happen overnight, Sam was pretty sure that if anyone was stubborn enough to get through to Dean, it was Bobby.

Sam’s long strides carried him up the stairs before Dean. When his brother reached the top, Sam diverted him from his path to the bathroom and steered him towards the bedroom.

“Bobby said...”

“I know, Dean, but I got something for you.”

Dean’s expression was apprehensive, but he followed Sam into the bedroom. His brother stood at the foot of the bed while Sam set his bag on the mattress. It took a moment of him looking at Dean’s worried eyes to think of the fact that the only time Dad would have said those words was if he’d brought home something new to hurt Dean with.

“It’s good a thing,” Sam assured him as he dug through the bag. He stopped for a moment and looked at Dean. “I want to get rid of the strop. The belt’s your call, but I don’t want that thing around anymore.”

His brother was quiet for a long moment. As he stood there, Dean's hand ran over the leather at his waist. “I want to keep the belt.”

“That’s fine, but I’m not using it.” He could see the objection on the tip of Dean’s tongue and cut his brother off. “I told you I’d watch you and I will, but if anything needs to be enforced I’m using the brush – no hands, no leather, okay?”

Dean finally gave a nod. “Yeah, okay.”

“And if you even think about using that thing on yourself then you’re never wearing a belt again, got it?”

“You got a lot damn rules,” Dean huffed as he sagged down on the bed. He flopped over onto his stomach to watch what Sam was doing. “Did you bring me M&Ms?”

“No.” Sam laughed. “You want M&Ms?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“We’ll go on a candy run after lunch, but you’re going to have to wear these.”

Sam pulled two packages from his bag and tossed them onto the mattress in front of Dean. His brother lifted them from the bed and rolled onto his back as he held them up to be examined.

“I didn’t know which you’d want. I didn’t ask because I didn’t figure you’d know either, but you should. I know it’s going to be weird at first, but they’re actually a lot more comfortable than just the jeans.”

His brother didn’t say anything, just looked between the briefs and boxers while running his finger over the plastic of the packaging. Abruptly, Dean rolled off the bed and dug into his own bag. He pulled out the Colt and held it loosely in his hands.

Sam could still see the blood matting in Dean's hair as if it had never been washed away. The ragged scar at Dean’s temple had only started to fade. He saw their Dad and Mom and all the people they’d salted and burned. Mostly, he remembered promising his brother that they’d go out together.

Dean opened the chamber and knocked the two remaining bullets out into the palm of his hand. He set them on the dresser beside their picture of Mom and Dad before laying the gun on the bed between them.

“I want to bury this too,” Dean said.

Seeing Dean lay down the gun lifted such a weight from Sam’s shoulders that he felt lightheaded. He hadn’t even thought to ask, hadn’t thought that Dean would be ready to let it go for a long time, if ever.

Sam lifted the gun from the bed and looked it over in his hands before dropping it into a bag with the strop. “We’ll find somewhere tonight."

He moved his school bag onto the floor and lay down on the bed with Dean. Sam sprawled out, basking in the fading warmth of the afternoon sun that spilled in through the window. 

There were two beds in the room. Sam was pretty sure the Singers were hoping that he and Dean would grow out of sharing a bed, but the other bed had never been touched. It never would be. Neither of them could sleep without being able to feel where the other was.

Dean rolled onto his side and curled against him, his head nuzzling against Sam's shoulder. "You know there's never going to be a girl, right? I mean, not for me."

Sam rolled into Dean and slipped his arms around his brother. "You don't know that." 

"Yeah, I do. I'm not saying it has to be the same for you, it shouldn't be...but just so you know."

Sam did know because as much as he told Dean he could find someone, he knew Dean didn't even want to. No more than Sam did.

Whether they were staying with the Singers or in a dirty motel room or on the open road, there was no one else Sam wanted at his side. He didn't care what Dean was or where they had been or where they were going, not so long as Dean was safe in his arms.


End file.
